SAH  DIEGO 


MANHOOD, 


p 
SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST; 

A  SERIES  OF 

*  & 

POEMS. 

By /WILLIAM    PLUME  R,  JR. 


Now  turn  again  my  team,  thou  jolly  swain, 
Back  to  the  furrow  which  I  lately  left  ; 

I  lately  left  a  furrow,  one  or  twain, 
Unploug-hed,  the  which  my  coulter  had  not  cleft. 
SPENSER. 


BOSTON : 

t   • 

TAPPAN  AND  DENNET. 

1843. 


E  X  f.  T  E  K  : 

FRANCIS  CHANT'S  OFFICE. 


PREFACE. 


THE  reader  of  a  former  volume,  written  by  the  au 
thor  of  the  present,  will  recognise,  in  this,  the  contin 
uation  of  a  work,  which  was  there  left  unfinished.  To 
those  who  have  not  seen  that  volume,  it  may  be  neces 
sary  to  say,  that  the  original  design  embraced  a  series 
of  poems,  in  which  the  progress  of  Human  Life  should 
be  traced  from  infancy  to  old  age.  The  part  formerly 
published  was  devoted  to  Youth  ;  the  subject  of  the 
present  is  Manhood  ;  as  that  of  the  next  (should  anoth 
er  follow)  will  be  Age.  But  though  thus  connected, 
in  design,  each  forms  a  separate  work,  complete  in  it 
self,  without  reference  to  the  two  other  parts. 

A  design,  so  comprehensive,  admitted  of  great  vari 
ety,  both  in  the  selection  of  topics,  and  in  the  mode  of 
their  treatment.  To  bring  the  work  within  reasonable 


.«* 
','.JI 


PREFACE. 


bounds,  as  well  as  from  considerations  mentioned  in 
the  former  volume,  the  author,  instead  of  considering 
Life  in  the  abstract,  or  exhibiting  the  opinions  and  ad 
ventures  of  an  imaginary  hero,  has  made  his  own 
thoughts  and  actions  the  nucleus,  round  which  to 
throw  the  interest  of  his  work.  He  is  not  ignorant 
of  the  just  ridicule  which  attaches  to  the  minute  rem 
iniscences  of  obscure  individuals  ;  nor  does  he  expect 
the  sympathy  of  the  reader,  any  further  than  his  de 
scriptions  and  his  sentiments  may  correspond  to  the 
truth  of  nature ;  to  that  broad  general  nature,  that 
common  humanity,  which,-  whether  in  narratives  of 
real  life,  or  in  works  of  fiction,  is  the  only  true  founda 
tion  of  either  historic,  or  poetic  interest.  Truth  of 
sentiment,  and  justness  of  description  are,  at  all  times, 
and  under  all  circumstances,  interesting ;  whether  the 
person  described  be  a  prince  or  a  peasant,  a  statesman 
or  a  private  citizen,  world-famous,  or  known  only  in 
the  narrow  circle  of  his  friends.  "  Homo  sum,  et 
nihil  humani  a  me  alienum  puto. "  Man  and  his 
thoughts,  his  actions  and  his  emotions,  can  never  be 
indifferent  to  his  fellow  man ;  and  to  secure  an  inter 
est  in  any  account  of  him,  it  is  only  necessary  that  we 
have  the  true  man  before  us,  and  not  some  false  pre 
sentation  of  him. 


w 

PREFACE.  V 


m*  Z, 

k>     ***•- 


The  general  plan  of  the  work  (from  which  how 
ever  there  are  occasional  deviations)  is,  that  each  son 
net,  or  short  poem,  should  express  the  opinion,  the 
sentiment,  or  the  feeling,  proper  to  the  occasion,  the 
event,  or  the  state  of  mind,  to  which  it  relates.  If  bu 
siness  or  leisure,  study  or  amusement,  activity  or  re 
pose,  public  employment  or  domestic  seclusion,  youth, 
manhood,  or  age,  long  life,  or  an  early  grave,  have  ap 
peared,  at  different  times,  preferable  the  one  to  the 
other,  the  author  has  endeavoured  to  give  to  the  feeling 
of  the  moment  its  appropriate  expression  ;  regardless 
of  other  views  and  feelings,  which,  at  other  times,  may, 
in  their  turn,  have  been  equally  strong  with  him.  De 
sirous  chiefly  that  the  verse  should  be  true  to  the  mood 
of  mind  from  which  it  sprung,  he  has  aimed  at  no  real 
or  apparent  uniformity  of  thought,  or  expression  ;  and 
least  of  all,  has  he  studied  to  express  himself  always 
alike  ;  for  the  obvious  reason  that  he  has  not  always 
thought  or  felt  alike.  These  inconsistencies  of  human 
nature,  the  varying  lights  and  shades  of  life,  he  has 
sought  rather  to  bring  out,  and  exhibit,  than  to  excuse, 
or  conceal. 

But  notwithstanding  the  variety  of  topics  introduc 
ed,  and  the  different  aspects  under  which  they  are  pre 
sented,  it  is  hoped  that  the  reader  will  perceive  some- 


VI  PREFACE. 

thing  like  the  feeling  of  a  whole,  arising  in  him,  as 
he  proceeds ;  and  that  the  work,  according  to  an  idea 
of  Goethe,  in  reference  to  a  far  different  book,  will  be 
found,  at  once,  fragmentary  enough  to  excite  curios 
ity,  and  full  enough  to  satisfy  it. 
EPPING,  N.  H. 

February  9,  18-13. 


DEDICATION 


JOHN    QU1NCY    ADAMS, 


I. ATE  PKFSIDF.NT  OF  THE  U1UTK1)  STATKS. 


LONG  years  are  past,  since,  first,  in  Harvard  halls, 
Thine  ardour  roused  me  :  pupil  there  I  heard 
Such  strains  of  quickening  eloquence  as  stirred 

Youth's  inmost  soul ;   fond  memory  yet  recalls 
High  hopes,  ambitious  aims,  and  proud  desires, 
Caught  there  in  contact  with  thy  kindling  fires  : 

And  who  can  tell  how  much  of  after  life 

Is  fashioned  to  the  stamp,  which  genius  prints 

On  thoughts  of  ductile  youth  ;  what  hues  and  tints 

Are  there  inwrought,  which  fade  not  in  the  strife 
Of  later  years.     My  guide,  in  days  of  youth  ! 

My  manhood's  friend  !  to  thee  the  grateful  muse 

Glad  homage  pays  ;  nor  thou  the  lay  refuse, 
To  genius  due,  to  virtue,  friendship,  truth. 


CONTENTS. 

HOME — My  Father — The  Law — One  and  Twenty — Despondency — 
Courage — The  Choice — Cheerful  Labour — Practice — The  Manly  Mind 
— Sickness — Loss  of  Early  Friends — Stevens — Bird — Eliot — Windship 
— Early  Worth — My  Sister's  Marriage — To  Emma — At  the  Grave — 
The  Unseen  Guide — The  Return — The  Angler — The  Sportsman — A  day 
at  the  Great  Boar's  Head,  Hampton  Beach. 


OR 


SCEI¥ES    FROUI    THE    PAST 


BOOK   FIRST. 


EARLY     MANHOOD. 


HOME. 

ONCE  more  beneath  the  parent  roof  !  once  more 
My  native  air  I  breathe  ;  and  seek  again 
My  native  haunts,  in  valley,  hill,  and  plain, 
By  stream,  by  fountain ;  in  wide  forests  hoar, 
Mid  whose  primeval  gloom  I  nursed,  of  yore, 
The  love  of  nature.     Still  o'er  heart  and  brain 
These  scenes,  unchanged,  their  former  power  retain 
Alike  urtehafcged;  is  still' thaffflrtrthe*  here, 
Tended ! tfnd  fcafeful; '  as,  'wfeile  <)4t >a  ichrld',      '•   [wild 
My  griefs  s^ie'sdothfed^awd1  checked1  my  transports 
They  totf'ife^her'e'J'niy' b'rbthefrs,  'kind;  sincere,  •••  ••'•*) 
And  she,  ah  !  Well  beloved  !;i  my  sister  dear  ;''K»i    v" 
With  thett1,  rtiysi*e!   «lP')otes  m;on«"coTwbined(    ' 
Friend,  guafdiah,  'gtj'ide;  artd  parent  i&f  my  mind. 


10  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

MY   FATHER. 

Yes,  Parent  of  my  mind  !  to  thee  I  owe 
What'er  of  generous  scorn  for  vice  I  feel, 
Or  love  of  virtue  :  early,  with  wise  zeal, 

Twas  thine  to  me  the  fountains  pure  to  show, 

Whence  living  streams  of  lasting  knowledge  flow. 
Untaught  in  schools,  thy  spirit  yet  discerned 
Life's  deepest  lore,  in  action  surest  learned. 

Sagacious  of  mankind,  twas  thine  to  try 
Early  the  walks  of  life  ;  with  skill  to  know, 

And  strength  to  follow,  where  thy  steady  eye, 

Mid  shifting  scenes,  the  glittering  prize  could  spy, 
Which  fame  and  fortune  on  the  wise  bestow. 

Alas  !  that  I  so  ill  should  profit  yet, 

So  slow  to  learn,  so  ready  to  forget. 


THE    LAW. 


I. 


The  world  lies  wide  before  me.     Where  to  go, 
What  paths  to  follow,  mid  what  scenes  abide, 

Craves  caution  now  ;  for  much  of  weal  or  wo 
Rests  on  the  choice,  as  wisdom  may  decide, 
Or  folly  turn  the  slender  stream  aside 

Of  wavering  purpose,  doubtful  where  to  flow  : 
Happy  herein,  that  I  have  safest  guide 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  11 

In  thee,  my  father !  Welcome  then  the  strife, 
The  care,  the  labour ;  so,  like  thine,  my  day 
Pass  brightly  on,  mid  honor's  thronged  array, 

In  courts  of  law,  and  scenes  of  public  life. 
Be  mine  to  follow, — far  as  fates  allow, — 

In  that  bright  track,  where  Coke  erst  led  the  way, 
Where  Mansfield  shone,  and  Marshall  triumphs  now ! 


II. 


How  calm  the  quiet  of  this  sylvan  shade ! 

Where,  wealth  and  want  unknown,  our  studious  toil 

Nor  heeds  the  city's  pomp,  nor  village  broil ; 
But  blest  with  leisure,  in  the  tranquil  glade, 
No  cares  molest  us,  and  no  wants  invade. 

Ah  !  happy  days  of  home  bred  joy,  so  spent, 
In  rest  and  toil  alternate, — hiving  still 
The  sweets  of  science,  drinking  from  the  rill 

Of  copious  knowledge.     Seasons  came  and  went, 
Light  winged,  unburdened.     Hope  her  nameless  charm 

O'er  all  diffused  :  the  World  unsought,  unknown, 

At  distance  seen,  in  gaudy  splendour  shone  ; 
Nor  doubt  came  yet,  to  sadden  or  alarm, 

Nor  envy  here  her  withering  blast  had  blown. 


12  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


,flEtJ3  •  Sl    'ti&jfj-swj-Cvrts  :    •/.'•• 

ONE   AND    TWENTY. 


Last  night,  methought,  on  wings  of  flame, 
I  saw  the  hours  their  flight  delay, 

As  slowly  to  my  couch  they  came, 
To  bring  once  more  my  natal  day  : 

And  thus  they  spake,  Thy  Youth  is  past, 

Thy  boyish  days  forever  flown  ; 
Those  idle  hours  are  on  the  blast, 

Which  thoughtless  childhood  calls  her  own. 

The  fleeting  joys,  to  youth  decreed, 
Fast  hasten  to  their  destined  end  ; 

Maturer  years  must  now  succeed, 

And  Manhood's  sterner  cares  attend. 

Rouse  then  to  nobler  aims  thy  mind, 

And  wake  from  sloth  thy  struggling  soul; 

Call  into  life  each  thought  refined, 
And  every  meaner  wish  control. 

If  wisdom  o'er  thy  course  preside, 
Fortune  shall  lend  her  cheering  smile, 

Virtue  thy  steps  to  honor  guide, 

And  love's  delights  life's  cares  beguile. 

Speed  then,  I  cried,  your  rapid  flight, 
And  buoyant  on  your  wings  of  fire, 

Bear  hence,  to  realms  of  endless  night, 
Those  joys  that  wake,  but  to  expire. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Be  mine  the  task,  through  rugged  ways, 
Truth's  hidden  treasures  to  explore  ; 

With  fearless  step  to  tread  the  maze, 

Which  Jones  and  Blackstone  trod  before. 

For  this,  farewell  each  low  desire, 
Farewell  gay  pleasure's  gilded  train  ; 

To  those  proud  heights  my  hopes  aspire, 
Where  Justice  holds  her  awful  reign. 

And  oh  !  farewell  the  lovely  Muse, 

The  graceful  forms  that  round  her  tend, 

fj  w 

Since  Themis'  accents  still  refuse 

With  Phoebus'  sprightlier  strains  to  blend. 

Welcome  long  toil  and  care  sedate, 
The  studious  brow,  abstemious  cheer  ; 

The  sober  thoughts,  that  patient  wait 
On  daily  business,  welcome  here. 

Welcome,  —  thrice  welcome,  so  ye  bring 
Content,  the  child  of  steady  aim ; 

If,  nobler  yet,  from  labour  spring 
A  mind  matured,  a  healthful   frame. 

If  these  on  active  life  attend, 

If  fame,  if  fortune,  be  their  meed, 

What  matters  it  that  Youth  must  end, 
Since  Manhood's  nobler  joys  succeed. 

*2 


13 


14  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


DESPONDENCY. 


How  painful  is  his  task,  whom  duty's  voice 

Bids  on,  while  yet  the  weary  sense  hangs  back  ! 
With  mind  o'erwrought,  and  jaded  spirits  slack, 

The  toil,  that  late  was  happy  labour's  choice, 
Seems  folly  now,  or  madness.     Sore  perplext 
With  case,  and  comment,  statute,  reading,  text, 

Almost,  at  times,  the  student  could  rejoice, 
So  deeply  doth  the  task  his  spirit  try, 
"To  shut  the  book,  and  sit  him  down  and  die!" 

What  folly  then,  he  cries,  to  load  each  hour 
With  thankless  labour,  —  toiling  like  the  bee, 

That  hives  his  honey  from  each  opening  flower, 
Yet  doomed  at  last  his  treasured  wealth  to  see 

Rifled,  —  nor  'scape  himself  the  spoiler's  power. 


COURAGE. 


True  —  life  is  labour,  —  and  the  care  bestowed 
Oft  fills  another's  garner  —  be  it  so  — 
Yet,  not  for  that,  the  cares  of  life  forego, 

Nor  sink  effeminate  beneath  the  load. 

Wealth,  honor,  power,  each  good  to  mortals  dear, 
Is  rounded  in  the  Lawyer's  ample  sphere 

Of  wide  and  varied  duties.     Patient  thought 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  15 

Brings  order  from  confusion  :  deep,  yet  clear, 

Subtile,  yet  sound,  'tis  his,  unharmed,  to  steer, 
His  flexile  course,  through  mazes  deep  inwrought 

With  fraud  and  folly  :  armed  with  reason's  spear, 
With  learning's  shield,  the  rapier  keen  as  bright 
Of  ready  wit,  he  knows  to  guard  the  right, 

Aid  truth,  and  bar  oppression's  proud  career. 


THE    CHOICE. 


While  on  couch  of  down  reclining, 
Sloth  has  laid  his  restless  head, 

Labour  throws  him,  unrepining, 
On  the  earth,  his  welcome  bed. 
By  no  fancied  cares  opprest, 
He  from  toil  hath  won  his  rest : 
Airy  visions,  fancies  gay, 
Cheer  his  dreams  till  dawn  of  day. 

Sloth,  meantime,  unsleeping,  numbers, 
Stroke  on  stroke,  the  hours  of  night : 
Or,  if  lost  in  fitful  slumbers, 

Wakes  mid  dreams  of  wild  affright : 
Nor,  till  when  the  morning  sun 
Far  his  upward  course  has  run, 
Rises  languid,  sore  distrest, 
Restless,  from  his  bed  of  rest. 


16  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Cheerful  Labour  carols  gay, 

With  the  lark  his  song  up-sending ; 

Healthful,  happy,  day  by  day, 
Fearless,  busy,  onward  tending. 

Doubtful,  wavering,  full  of  fears, 

Sloth  no  voice  of  duty  hears ; 

Faint,  desponding,  anxious  still, 

Toil  he  shuns,  and  time  would  kill. 

Choose  thy  part  then :  thou  may'st  follow 

Visions  vain  of  fancied  ease, 
In  the  slough  of  sloth  to  wallow ; 

Or,  intent  the  prize  to  seize, 
Gird  thy  loins,  and,  prompt  of  hand, 
Cheerful  take  the  ready  stand, 
Where  glad  Labour,  ne'er  in  vain, 
Strives  the  joys  of  life  to  gain. 


CHEERFUL   LABOUR. 


Study,  thought,  and  contemplation, 
These  are  well,  but  are  not  all  : 

Thou  must  reach  a  higher  station, 
Would'st  thou  answer  nature's  call. 

Life  has  duties,  that  allow 

Narrow  space  for  dreamy  vision  ; 

Duties  that  demand,  e'en  now, 
Prudence,  forethought,  care,  precision. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  17 

Prudence,  and  firm  heart  are  needful, 

Sad  and  painful  ploding  never  : 
If  of  love  and  labour  heedful, 

Joy  is  thine,  and  thine  forever  : 

Love,  that  lives  in  healthful  labour, 

Thought,  that  ponders  void  of  fear, 
Hand  to  help,  at  need,  thy  neighbour, 

Cheerful  heart,  and  conscience  clear. 

Be't  as  master,  rival,  lover, 

Hold  thy  truth  from  harshness  free  ; 
While,  to  all,  thy  deeds  discover 

Large  and  liberal  charity. 

Follow  justice,  clear,  precise, 

Marking  well  the  bounds  that  sever 
Virtue's  realms  from  realms  of  vice; 

Strict,  yet  stern,  or  scornful  never. 

Late  and  early,  scatter  wide 

Deeds,  that  love  and  kindness  cherish  ; 
Some  will  fail  thee  ;  some  abide, 

Nor  in  age,  or  sadness  perish. 

With  good  will,  thy  service  give  thou, 

Largely,  gladly,  to  thy  kind  ; 
Yet,  of  none  the  slave,  still  live  thou, 

Mid  thy  labours,  free  of  mind  : 

Freest,  e'en  when  toiling  hardest, 
To  advance  the  good  of  others; 


18  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Rich  thyself,  since  thou  regardest 

All  men  as  thy  friends  and  brothers. 
"%.  ."•>*".  - 

And  should  cares  of  earth  assail  thee, 
(As  thou  need'st  must  suffer  ill,) 

Conscious  virtue  will  avail  thee, 
Life's  best  wishes  to  fulfil. 

Forward  still  thy  high  career 

Bears  thee  on,  with  restless  motion ; 

Like  yon  stream,  whose  waters  clear 
Pause  not  till  they  rest  in  ocean. 

And  thy  recompense  of  gain, 
Be  it  honor,  power,  or  treasure, 

Comes,  unenvied,  free  from  stain, 
Crowning  life's  long  toil  with  leisure. 

Life  with  leisure,  when  thy  day, 

In  the  mellow  west  reposing, 
Melts  in  twilight  soft  away, 

As  its  shades  are  round  thee  closing. 

Now,  its  rays  are  streaming  brightly, 
Round  the  paths  of  life  before  thee  : 

Up,  and  tread  them,  boldly,  lightly, 

Fear  not,  doubt  not,  hope  shines  o'er  thee. 

Fear  not,  doubt  not,  'tis  thy  portion, 
Opening  Manhood's  choicest  treasure, 

Still  to  move,  and  find  in  motion, 
Find  in  toil,  life's  sweetest  pleasure. 


SCENES     FROM    THE    PAST.  13 

PRACTICE. 
I. 

And  I  have  passed  the  barrier  now,  and  stand 
Armed  in  the  arena ;   girt  with  rivals  round, 
Rivals,  yet  friends ;   with  champions  far  renowned 

For  quick  resource,  for  knowledge  at  command, 

For  tempers  tried  and  trained.     The  Lawyer's  lot, — 
To  elbow  in  the  crowd,  and  fear  it  not ; 

To  fight  another's  battles,  oft  borne  back, 

Yet  ne'er  subdued,  impetuous  in  attack, 
As  wary  in  defence ;  to  give  the  shot, 

Or  take,  alike  prepared,  is  now  my  task  ; 
If  well  or  ill  performed,  if  on  the  track 

My  course  be  steady  here,  oh  !  do  not  ask  ; 
Th'  attempt  at  least  is  glorious  ;  and  the  strife 
Gives  strength  to  hope,  and  energy  to  life. 


II. 


'Tis  wise,  betimes,  to  mingle  in  the  fray, 

To  bare  the  sinewy  arms,  the  nerves  to  brace  ; 
To  start,  undoubting,  in  life's  glorious  race  ; 

To  push,  with  steady  aim,  that  scorns  delay, 


20  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Fearless,  through  adverse  ranks,  our  onward  way, 

Till  skill  and  vigour  in  the  strife  prevail. 
The  stream  but  stagnates,  while  its  waters  lay, 

Spread,  fen-like,  dark,  unreached  by  sun  or  gale, 
In  pools  of  pestilence,  and  rank  decay  : 

But  swept,  in  rapid  motion,  down  the  vale, 
It  ripples  into  life,  with  current  clear, 

Strong,  healthful,  joyous,  though  with  storm  and  wind 
And  rocky  bank  familiar  :  such  the  rough  career 

That  hardens  into  strength  the  toil-strung  mind. 


Action,  'tis  action,  that  our  powers  must  try, 
Not  study,  thought,  seclusion  :  these  alone 
But  arm  us  for  the  fight,  yet  ne'er  make  known 

Our  skill  or  prowess,  while  inert  they  lie  ; 

Motion  is  life  ;  and  we  must  do  or  die. 

Our  thoughts  are  fruitless,  till  in  action  shown, 
Till  power  displayed,  on  adverse  power  o'erthrown, 

Give  strength  to  purpose,  that  may  fear  defy. 

Power  hast  thou  gained,  or  knowledge?  Put  to  use 
Thy  talent  then  ;  to  hoard  it  is  abuse, 

Nay,  worse,  is  'sin  ^nana/^offg^e1/  or  peHi'-1    JWW 
WhaWthy1  we'ap6'n;'Void!(6f  " 

Mix  boldfy;'giaaiy^itVVh 

And  worK,!eWitnremesii;hea«,  t'Kjr  jiurpWsfe  dtitf." 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST,  21 

THE    MANLY    MIND. 

The  wisdom  of  the  worldly  wise 

Is  but  a  babble  vain  : 
The  cautious  maxims,  they  so  prize, 

Of  soul-absorbing  gain ; 

Their  paltry  savings,  to  secure 

The  wealth  they  dare  not  spend  ; 
Their  pockets  rich,  their  spirits  poor, 

Too  poor  to  aid  a  friend ; 

The  sordid  selfishness,  that  shuns, 

By  word  or  deed,  to  shew 
That  blood  of  human  kindness  runs 

In  veins  so  cold  and  blue  ! 

Give  me  the  heart  of  manly  mould, 

That  leaps  with  joy  to  life  ; 
The  liberal  hand,  the  spirit  bold, 

That  shrinks  not,  e'en  from  strife  : 

That  follows  peace,  but  open,  free, 

Disdains  all  base  concealing  ; 
Yet  prompt,  mid  scenes  of  strife,  to  see, 

The  signs  of  gentler  feeling : 

That  values  wealth,  but  for  its  use  j 

Holds  office,  but  to  yield 
The  weak  its  aid,  to  check  abuse, 

And  throw  o'er  right  its  shield  : 
3 


22  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

That  dares  be  true  to  virtues  cause, 
Though  dearest  friends  oppose  ; 

That  values  fame,  yet  scorns  applause 
When  won  from  virtue's  foes. 

Such  heart  is  rich,  though  small  its  store, 
Is  blest,  though  fortune  frown  ; 

While  he,  who  wants  such  heart,  is  poor, 
Though  wealth  his  labors  crown. 


SICKNESS. 


I. 


Our  life  how  insecure  !     Disease  of  late 

Hath  shook  me  with  the  wrench  of  thrilling  pain  : 
Fever,  that  shoots  his  fire  through  heart  and  brain, 

Has  stretched  me  on  the  couch  of  sudden  fate, 
In  conflict  dire  with  death  :  if  felt  again 
The  anguish  of  that  hour,  all  hope  is  vain, 

And  life  must  find,  e'en  here,  its  destined  date. 
How  bitter  !  thus,  in  manhood's  dawn,  to  part 

From  hope's  gay  visions,  seen  in  prospect  bright, 
And  ne'er  before  so  cherished  by  the  heart, 

As  now,  when  fading  from  my  aching  sight. 
How  can  I  bid  each  darling  hope  adieu, 
So  little  yet  enjoyed,  so  much  in  view  : 

How  shroud  life's  morn  in  shades  of  sudden  night ! 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  23 

II. 

How  long,  or  how  employed ;  if  good  or  ill 

On  life  attend,  or  early  death  be  best, 

He  only  knows,  to  whose  benign  behest 
Humbly  I  bow,  obedient  to  his  will. 
E'en  when  disease  seemed  hastening  to  fulfil 

On  me  his  aim,  regret,  far  more  than  fear, 
Saddened  the  scene.     How  hard  to  leave,  untried, 
The  joys,  in  rich  profusion  scattered  wide, 

By  liberal  nature  proffered  freely  here 
Ambition's  lofty  aims,  the  hopes  of  gain, 
Love's  gentle  wiles,  and  pleasure's  laughing  train. 

Ah  !  cruel  Death  !  to  strike,  in  youthful  pride, 
The  happy  down  ;  while  want  and  wo  remain, 
And  age  oft  asks  thy  timely  aid  in  vain. 


LOSS    OF    EARLY    FRIENDS. 


We  grew  like  brothers,  side  by  side, 
In  fearless  fellowship  of  youth ; 

In  thought,  in  feeling,  near  allied, 

In  pleasure's  search,  and  search  of  truth. 

In  generous  rivalship  of  fame, 
That  knew  no  gall  of  bitterness, 

While  each  would  highest  honors  claim, 
None  wished  another's  merit  less. 


24  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

No,  let  him  triumph,  if  his  power 
A  brighter  wreath  than  ours  obtain : 

O  * 

He  shall  not  want,  to  grace  his  hour, 
Our  band  to  swell  his  lengthened  train. 

He  shall  not  want,  his  fame  to  swell. 
The  plaudit  that  on  worth  attends ; 

He  shall  not  want,  that  worth  to  tell, 
The  warm  applause  of  rival  friends. 

How  proud  our  boast !  that  honor's  breath 

With  lasting  wreaths  their  toils  would  crown  ; 

Nor  dreamed  we  then  thy  shafts,  O  death  ! 
Would  bring,  so  soon,  such  high  hopes  down. 

But  ah  !  when  friends  so  loved  depart, 
How  vain  seems  life's  sad  pageant  here; 

Its  noblest  boast  the  bleeding  heart, 
Its  richest  gem  the  starting  tear ! 


STEVENS. 


What  time  the  herds  their  pasture  leave, 

And  flocks  to  fold  repair, 
I  wander  forth,  at  dewy  eve, 

To  soothe  my  lonely  care. 

Alone,  where,  Stevens  !  oft  with  thee 
In  social  pleasure  joined, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  *O 

I  strayed,  the  setting  sun  to  see, 
Or  breathe  the  evening  wind  ; 

The  balmy  breath  of  evening  mild, 

With  song  of  thrush  retired, 
Whose  mellow  notes  the  ear  beguiled, 

Unseen,  not  less  admired. 

How  gently,  to  our  thoughts,  the  power 

Of  plastic  nature  there 
Shaped,  from  all  forms,  in  twilight's  hour, 

The  beautiful  and  fair  ! 

The  wooded  hill,  the  cultured  plain, 

The  valley's  rich  array 
Of  tasselled  corn,  of  yellow  grain, 

Of  grass,  and  tedded  hay  ; 

The  simplest  sounds,  from  earth  that  come, 

Can  tales  of  pleasure  tell ; 
E'en  rustling  leaf,  and  insect's  hum, 

Our  hearts  with  joy  can  swell. 

The  low  soft  murmur  of  the  wind, 

As  evening  closes  round, 
Is  music  to  the  thoughtful  mind, 

That  lists  its  plaintive  sound. 

Mid  song  of  bird,  and  scent  of  rose, 

And  flush  of  fading  skies, 
Our  kindling  hearts,  from  earth's  repose, 

On  wings  of  rapture  rise. 

*3 


26  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

How  warm  with  generous  faith  they  glow, 

While  gazing  on  the  stars, 
That  shed  their  light  of  love  below, 

To  wean  from  mortal  jars  ; 

To  turn  our  weary  steps  from  earth, 

Back  to  their  native  home, 
Mid  purer  joys  of  nobler  birth, 

Through  richer  fields  to  roam. 

So  bright  they  shine,  so  softly  pure, 

So  mild  each  gentle  ray, 
They  seem,  as  stationed  to  allure 

Our  souls  from  earth  away. 

Then  wherefore,  Stevens!  should  I  grieve 

That  virtue,  such  as  thine, 
So  early  won  the  envied  leave 

From  labour  to  recline  ; 

From  labour  here  of  anxious  thought, 

That  toils  for  rest  in  vain  ; 
Where  seeming  good,  with  care  long  sought, 

Turns  oft  to  sudden  pain  ; 

To  sudden  pain,  when,  surest  won, 

We  deem  the  prize  our  own  : 
Yet  find  too  soon,  our  labour  done, 

We  grasp  a  shade  alone. 

A  shade  of  fancied  bliss  we  hold, 
Where  most  our  spirits  toiled, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  27 

Its  bright  form  changed,  the  warm  blood  cold, 
Of  life  and  beauty  spoiled. 

But  thou  art  gone,  where  shadows  turn 

To  substance  once  again  ; 
And  those,  our  griefs  on  earth  inurn, 

Their  youthful  forms  regain  ; 

Their  youthful  forms,  with  added  grace 

And  beauties  of  the  mind  ; 
With  nobler  joys  than  here  find  place, 

And  pleasures  more  refined. 


BIRD. 


Ambition  was  the  glorious  sin, 

That  in  his  bosom  reared  her  throne, 

That  quelled  all  meaner  aims  within, 
And  reigned  unrivalled  and  alone. 

On  him  the  star  of  glory  shed 
The  only  light  his  eye  could  see  ; 

Fixed  ever  on  the  mighty  dead, 
Those  heirs  of  immortality  ! 

On  him  it  shone,  no  meteor  light, 
From  lower  skies  that  came, 

But  high,  enduring,  broad  as  bright, 
A  central  fire  of  living  flame. 


28  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

On  him  each  muse  of  science  smiled, 
Nor  less  each  grace  of  gentler  power  ; 

Till  seeming  rivals,  reconciled,       • 
Shed  blessings  on  his  natal  hour. 

Reason  was  his,  excursive,  strong, 
Subtile  the  folds  of  art  to  pierce ; 

Nor  less  did  fancy's  powers  belong 

To  him  who  claims  this  mournful  verse. 

But  ah  !  what  pencil's  tints  can  trace 
Though  dipped  in  colours  of  the  sky, 

The  pride,  the  fire,  the  manly  grace, 
That  darted  from  his  ardent  eye  ! 

But  failing  flesh  could  ill  sustain 

The  spirit's  flight,  the  toil,  the  strife, 

The  proud  contempt,  that  mocked  at  pain, 
That  glory  sought,  but  prized  not  life. 

And  yet,  how  bitter  to  that  heart, 

Which  with  the  mightiest  fain  would  cope, 

The  call,  thus  sudden,  to  depart, 

Unproved,  unknown,  in  dawn  of  hope. 

Wide  wandering  from  his  home,  he  fell, 
Where  stranger  hands,  with  mournful  care, 

Shaped,  for  his  rest,  earth's  narrow  cell, 
And  laid  Ambition's  votary  there. 

A  tale  begun,  but  left  untold, 

A  broken  shaft,  a  harp  unstrung ; 


SCENES    FKOM    THE    PAST.  29 

In  these  his  emblems  we  behold, 

The  brave,  the  beautiful,  the  young  ! 


E  LIOT. 


How  quickly  fade,  in  manhood's  prime, 
The  brightest  hues  of  earthly  bloom ; 

While  sweetest  flowers  of  mortal  time 
But  shed  their  odours  round  the  tomb. 

Then  Eliot !  why  should  I  deplore 

The  hour  that  closed  thy  brief  career  ; 

Or  ask,  thy  destined  trials  o'er, 

That  thou  should'st  longer  linger  here  ? 

His  life  is  long,  who  lives  to  do 

The  work  the  wise  task  master  gave ; 

And  his  but  short,  whose  friends  must  view, 
Though  late,  his  dark  dishonored  grave. 

And  who  can  tell  but  he,  whose  breast 
Is  wrung  with  warm  emotion  now, 

May  envy  soon  thy  quiet  rest, 

The  calmness  of  that  tranquil  brow. 

Who  knows  but  grief  may  be  his  lot, 

Through  years  of  labour,  care  and  strife ; 

Or  worse,  that  stain  of  guilt  may  blot 
His  mingled  web  of  clouded  life! 


30  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

I  would  not  then,  dear  friend !  recall 
Thy  rescued  spirit  from  the  skies  ; 

Nor  seek  thy  virtue  to  inthral 

Again  with  weight  of  fleshly  ties. 

My  devious  course  may  wind,  awhile, 
Through  varied  scenes  of  joy  or  gloom  ; 

But  storms  that  lower,  and  skies  that  smile, 
Alike  conduct  us  to  the  tomb. 

The  bliss  is  his,  who  early  gains 
The  spirit's  land  of  purer  day ; 

To  us,  the  darker  doom  remains 
Of  harder  toil,  and  longer  way. 


W  I  N  D  S  H  T  P  . 

Friend  after  friend  had  left  my  side, 

While  each  seemed  dearer  than  the  rest ; 

Yet  one  remained,  my  joy,  my  pride, 
The  earliest  known,  and  loved  the  best. 

Bird,  Eliot,  Stevens,  Bliss,  and  thee, 

Dear  Windship  now  !  would  I  could  call 

E'en  one  to  life  ;  yet  none  for  me 
Thy  place  would  fill,  beloved  o'er  all. 

Twas  sympathy  of  contrast  formed 
Our  lasting  bond  of  union  here  ; 

Thy  fire  was  tamed,  my  langour  warmed, 
In  contact  with  each  adverse  sphere. 


SCENES     FROM    THE    PAST.  31 

I  loved  as  much  thy  warmth  of  soul, 
As  thou  my  calm  untroubled  thought, 

Thy  spirit,  that  defied  control, 
As  mine,  that  joy  in  quiet  sought. 

Thy  censure,  when  my  virtue  failed, 

Seemed  worse  than  doom  to  guilt  decreed  ; 

And  well  when  better  thoughts  prevailed, 
Thy  praise  repaid  each  generous  deed. 

Extremes,  in  others  rarely  seen, 

Were  softly  blended  still  in  thee, 
As  pictured  in  thy  changeful  mien, 

Alternate  mirth  and  gravity. 

In  thee  all  ardent  feelings  joined, 

High  hopes,  proud  wishes,  warm  desires; 

The  wayward  will,  the  thoughtful  mind, 
Pure  reason's  ray  with  passion's  fires. 

The  cautious  virtues  were  unknown 

To  thy  warm  nature ;  none  the  less 
Thy  course  was  virtuous;  oft  times  thrown 

Hard  on  the  verge  of  wild  excess, 

Thy  native  rectitude  of  soul 

Each  change  subdued  of  wandering  will  ; 
True  as  the  needle  to  the  pole, 

Yet  like  the  needle  restless  still. 

Mobility  of  temper,  joined 

To  high  resolve,  with  fear  unmixed, 


32  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

By  every  passing  breath  inclined, 
Yet  steadfast  to  thy  purpose  fixed. 

Youth's  strong  temptations  thou  had'st  known, 

By  vice  assailed,  yet  undefiled  ; 
Thy  galley  on  the  breakers  thrown, 

Yet  wrecked  not  mid  the  tempest  wild. 

Romantic  passion,  tender,  true, 

Felt  early,  and  for  one  alone, 
Did  all  thy  heart  pervade,  imbue, 

And  give  thy  life  its  inmost  tone. 

Yet  sterner  passions  in  excess 

Subdued  thy  kindly  temper  oft, 
And  changed  to  wrath  and  bitterness, 

A  heart  by  nature  ah  !  how  soft. 

Contempt  for  baseness  curled  thy  lip, 
And  proudly  fixed  that  deep  dark  eye, 

As  keen  thy  caustic  wit  would  strip 
Its  garb  from  bland  hypocrisy. 

Poor,  friendless,  orphaned,  and  oppressed, 
Thy  spirit  rushed,  in  hardy  fight, 

On  life's  dark  woes;  though  sore  distressed, 
Yet  victor  in  thy  native  might. 

Wild  desperate  thoughts,  at  times,  assailed, 
At  times,  thy  struggling  soul  subdued  ; 

Belief  and  doubt  alike  prevailed, 
Alternate  baffled  and  renewed. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  33 

4 

The  dark  mysterious  turns  of  fate 

Thy  keen  irreverent  eye  would  scan  ; 
Our  present  doom,  our  future  state, 

If  future  be  the  lot  of  man  ! 

Enough,  that  earth's  wide  circuit  rings 

With  scorn,  oppression,  insult,  wrong  ; 
That  outrage  soars  on  vulture  wings, 

And  frenzy  rules  the  bigot  throng  ! 

And  then  thy  glowing  fancy  drew 

Some  happier  state  of  equal  laws; 
Where  minds  are  free,  where  hearts  are  true, 

And  power  upholds  the  righteous  cause  ; 

Where  worth  bids  sordid  wealth  retire, 

Where  truth  prevails  o'er  prosperous  guile, 
And  modest  merit  may  aspire, 

In  virtue's  right,  to  beauty's  smile. 

And  now  the  dangerous  strife  seemed  past, 

Hope  dawned  auspicious  on  thy  way  ; 
Thy  sky,  so  long  with  gloom  o'ercast, 

Shone  brightly  forth  in  cloudless  day. 

As  truth  effused  her  purer  light, 

The  mists  of  painful  error  fled  ; 
Like  spectres  of  the  stormy  night, 

Or  dreams  that  rack  the  fevered  bed. 

•  ";;  r  •'«.  •^v^*'!*M(.^?^t'.  ^""..y.-O 
The  effervescence  of  hot  youth 

Seemed  calmly  settling  down  at  length ; 

4 


34  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Its  fury  spent,  its  fiery  truth 
Subsiding  into  manly  strength. 

And  ever  was  thy  searching  thought 
With  earnest  zeal  for  truth  inspired  ; 

No  pale  abstraction,  coldly  wrought, 
But  feeling  into  action  fired. 

j:';_  ~-r.       :'•<_•!'' '«•    .         •  '-.-,''•.    ,  f4 '±-.'r'. iV/i1       '  \\-i 

While  thus,  in  pride  of  manly  grace, 

Impatient  panting  for  renown, 
Just  starting  into  life's  warm  race, 

Lo  !  death  has  struck  his  victim  down, 

He  sleeps  beside  the  western  wave, 

From  friends  remote,  that  mourn  him  here  ; 

Not  scorned,  e'en  there  —  for  o'er  his  grave 
The  stranger  sheds  affection's  tear. 

But  wilder  tears  more  freely  flow 

From  her,  to  whom  his  faith  was  due ; 

Unwed,  yet  wrapt  in  weeds  of  wo, 
With  love  as  warm  as  his  was  true. 

Oh  !  who  would  live,  when  those  are  fled 
Whose  partial  smile  gave  life  its  zest, 

When  hope,  in  friendship's  grave,  lies  dead, 
With  those  we  earliest  loved  and  best. 

Though  young  in  years,  yet  am  I  left, 

E'en  now,  as  if  in  age,  alone  ; 
Of  comrades  dear,  of  friends  bereft, 

With  frustrate  aims,  and  hopes  o'erthrown. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  35 

EARLY    WORTH. 

Spare  then  thy  heartless  sneer,  thou  son  of  pride  ! 

Who  glorying  in  thy  greatness,  with  disdain 

Regard's!  these  fond  attempts,  as  void  and  vain, 
To  blazon  worth  unknown.     Though  turned  aside 

Early  from  glory's  paths,  they  should  secure 

Enduring  fame,  could  verse  of  mine  endure. 
Who  knows  not  that  the  bud,  in  opening  bloom, 

Is  lovelier  than  the  rose  in  full  blown  flower? 
And  who  but  feels  the  dewy  dawn's  perfume 

More  fragrant  than  the  noontide's  sultry  hour  ? 
Tis  thus  young  virtue,  yet  unsoiled  by  crime, 
The  freshness  of  pure  thought,  in  early  prime, 

Should  wreath  their  temples,  had  my  muse  the  power, 
With  laurels,  lasting  as  the  flight  of  time. 

MY   SISTER  'S    MARRIAGE. 


And  wilt  thou  leave  us  then  ?  and  canst  thou  go 
From  this  loved  home,  my  sister  !  far  away  ! 
Thy  sire  forsake,  from  thy  fond  mother  stray, 

And  leave  thy  brothers  lone  ?  alas  !  'tis  so  ; 

Since  to  thy  husband  now,  in  weal  or  wo, 
Thy  duty  cleaves  ;  nor  ask  I  more  delay. 
But  oh  !  should  fortune  frown,  and  thou,  one  day, 

Again  seek  shelter  here,  dear  sister  !  know, 
That  ever  in  these  hearts,  the  fires  shall  burn 
Of  constant  love,  more  bright  for  thy  return. 


36  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Then  go ;  a  mother's  love  shall  on  thee  wait, 
A  father's  blessing  ;  nor  hath  grief  such  power 
O'er  my  full  heart,  hut  here,  in  bridal  hour, 

I  joy  with  thee,  in  this  thine  altered  state. 


II. 


Yet  go  not  thus  ;  I  would  not  have  thee  part 
In  tears  bedewed  —  in  triumph  rather  drest, 
And  decked  in  smiles,  as  suits  such  beauty  best  : 

And  he,  the  happy  youth,  who  holds  thy  heart, 
Rich  in  such  peerless  treasure,  may  he  be 
Lover,  and  friend,  and  brother,  all  to  thee  : 

N'er  may'st  thou  know  th'  immedicable  smart 

Of  unrequited  love:  nay,  do  not  start, 

As  if  I  wronged  him  now ;  such  things  have  been, 

And,  sister  !  may  be  yet :  disgust  is  born 

Oft  e'en  of  love's  excess  :  the  rose  and  thorn 
Grow  on  one  stock,  fit  emblem  of  life's  scene  ! 

And  hence  my  hope  is  full  of  boding  fears, 

Affectionate,  that  smiles  through  tender  tears. 


TO    EMMA. 

To  watch  the  body's  slow  decline, 
To  mark  the  spirit,  day  by  day, 

As  shrinking  in  its  fragile  shrine, 
It  withers,  pines,  and  dies  away ; 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

To  see  the  light  of  life  retire, 

Long  cherished  with  assiduous  care, 

The  last  faint  gleam  of  hope  expire, 
And  death  close  down  on  thy  despair ; 

Such  lot  is  thine ;  while  I,  unblest, 
In  cheerless  gloom,  at  distance  wait, 

Each  movement  of  this  anxious  breast 
Suspended  on  a  sister's  fate. 

Too  soon  'tis  fixed  ;  all  hope  and  fear 

Alike  are  vain  and  useless  now, 
While  standing  by  this  silent  bier, 

And  gazing  on  that  marble  brow. 

Cold,  pale,  unchanging,  n'er  before 

My  presence  failed,  her  answering  smile 

Of  love  to  wake  —  ah  !  now  no  more 
My  joys  to  share,  my  griefs  beguile. 

When  last  I  kissed  that  palid  cheek 

•    .  • 

'Twas  like  the  hue  October's  breath 
Leaves  on  the  grove,  —  a  roseate  streak, 
Funereal,  bright,  the  bloom  of  death  ! 

'Tis  faded  now  ;  and  n'er  again 

That  heart,  so  quick  with  fond  desire, 

Will  heave  beneath  the  throb  of  pain, 
Or  burn  with  fever's  maddening  fire. 

Then  mourn  not  that  her  course  is  o'er. 

.    »'  'i»iX>.;V 

Ere  coming  storms  could  bar  her  way ; 

*4 


37 


38  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Afar  she  heard  the  tempest's  roar, 

And  gained  in  time  the  sheltering  bay. 

Yea,  blessed  are.  the  dead,  that  die 
Early  in  life's  revolving  year  ; 

That  bloom,  beneath  the  vernal  sky, 
To  fade,  ere  autumn's  leaf  turns  sear. 

I    '  - J  •  -  ••  V  r'  1 1 :    :  - 

The  nobler  joys  of  life  they  know, 
Its  bud,  its  flower,  its  rich  perfume, 

And  'scape,  ah  blest !  the  storms  that  blow 
On  age,  slow  sinking  to  the  tomb. 


AT    THE    GRAVE. 
I. 


Ah  !  too  prophetic  was  the  boding  strain 

That  wailed,  untimely,  in  thy  bridal  hour, 

The  rose  of  beauty,  fading  in  its  bower  : 
E'en  now,  that  plaintive  note  returns  again, 
Unwelcome  then,  as  useless  here  and  vain  ; 

Since,  standing  by  thy  grave,  I  view  the  place 
Where  friendly  hands  have  }aid  thee,  while  the  clod 
Falls  heavy  on  thy  bosom,  and  the  sod 

Wraps  thee  forever  in  its  cold  embrace. 

Yet  never  from  this  heart  shall  time  efface 
The  image  of  thy  love,  to  me  how  dear  ! 

What'er  our  lives,  from  earliest  youth,  had  known 
Of  good  or  ill,  was  shared  together  here  : 

Henceforth,  I  drain  life's  bitter  cup  alone. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  39 

II. 

Said  I  alone  ?  Nay,  many  yet  remain, 

Many,  and  well  esteemed  —  parents  revered, 
Brothers  beloved,  and  friends,  by  time  endeared  : 
Yet,  sister  !  none  like  thee.     The  silken  rein, 
That  guided  still  our  hearts,  held  but  us  twain, 
Unlinked  with  other  ties.     Though  fortune  veered 
With  fickle  sail,  and  good  or  ill  appeared 
Alternate  in  our  course,  —  life's  loss  or  gain, 
Its  joys,  its  sorrows,  sundered  n'er  the  chain 

That  bound  our  loves.     Earth  knows  no  purer  bond 
Than  sisterly  affection  :  free  from  stain 

Of  sensual  feeling,  tender,  playful,  fond, 
Platonic  love  holds  here  his  gentle  reign, 
O'er  kindred  hearts,  —  else  sought  on  earth  in  vain. 


THE    UNSEEN   GUIDE. 


Who  has  not  felt,  at  times,  a  thought 

*  *  o 

Flash  on  him,  from  the  world  unknown ; 
A  feeling,  on  his  mind  inwrought, 
A  glory,  round  him  brightly  thrown  ! 

Though  dense  the  cloud,  that  parts  the  clay 
From  vision  of  the  spirit  land, 

Yet  love  can  rend  the  veil  away, 

And  souls  unite,  as  hand  grasps  hand. 


40 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

And  who  can  tell  how  oft  the  touch 
Of  kindred  spirits  holds  us  back 

From  folly's  path,  or  helps,  how  much, 
To  keep  us  firm  on  virtue's  track. 

Oft,  sister  !  I  have  felt  the  glow 

Of  purer  thoughts  than  here  can  live ; 

And  known,  or  seemed,  at  times,  to  know, 
Serener  joys  than  earth  can  give. 

And  whence,  but  from  thy  promptings,  came 

Those  lofty  impulses  of  love, 
That,  kindling  bright  in  virtue's  flame, 

Burned  pure  as  seraph's  fires  above. 

Too  oft,  alas  !  thick  vapours  cloud 
The  lagging  spirit's  upward  flight ; 

While  earth-born  cares  and  frailties  shroud 
Our  visions  pure  in  shades  of  night. 

Yet  changed,  exalted,  as  thou  art, 
Be,  sister  !  still  my  wonted  guide  ; 

My  guide,  my  guard  !  and  in  this  heart, 
Unseen,  deep  felt,  as  erst  preside. 

I  could  not  wander  far  astray, 

While  thy  soft  light  around  me  shone ; 

Nor  now,  so  thou  direct  the  way, 
Mistake  the  path,  though  trod  alone. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  41 

THE    RETURN. 


Oft,  mid  sweet  slumbers  of  the  night, 
Her  cherished  form  appears, 

Arrayed,  as  erst,  in  beauty  bright, 
And  hues  of  youthful  years. 

As  light  of  foot,  as  quick  of  eye, 

As  thoughtless  and  as  gay, 
As  when  in  hours  of  infancy, 

And  childhood's  dawning  day. 

The  loved,  the  beautiful,  the  free, 
Whose  life  was  hope  and  joy, 

Returns,  once  more,  to  sport  with  me  ; 
And  I  too  am  a  boy. 

Forgot  it  now  the  sallow  cheek, 

The  dim  and  sunken  eye, 
The  failing  voice,  so  faint  and  weak, 

While  friends  stood  weeping  by. 

And  we  are  by  the  stream  again, 

Adovvn  the  sheltered  glen, 
From  sorrow  free,  from  grief,  and  pain, 

That  haunt  the  walks  of  men. 

The  merry  birds  their  matin  song 
Pour  wild  from  bush  and  tree ; 

And  our  glad  voices,  quick  and  strong, 
Ring  forth  in  strains  as  free. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

The  buoyancy  of  early  thought, 

In  youthful  joy,  is  ours  ; 
The  bounding  heart,  with  pleasure  fraught, 

The  bright  brows  crowned  with  flowers. 

For  plucking  sweets,  that  wildly  blow 

Along  our  woodland  way, 
I  bind  with  wreaths  that  brow  of  snow, 

And  crown  her  Queen  of  May. 

Oh  !  ever  in  my  waking  hours 

May  that  fair  form  abide, 
As  then,  so  lovely,  decked  with  flowers, 

She  sported  by  my  side. 


THE   ANGLER. 

I. 

The  angler's  art  seems  cruel ;  yet  have  minds 
Tender  as  manly,  loved  to  follow  still 
This  lonely  sport,  along  the  quiet  rill, 
That  far,  mid  grateful  shades,  in  silence  winds 
To  haunts  of  pickerel  darting,  or  the  seat 
Of  trout,  sly  lurking  in  his  cool  retreat. 
Nor  sights  nor  sounds  are  wanting,  to  suggest 
Thoughts  suited  to  the  calm  reflective  breast, 

Mid  sheltering  groves,  from  ruffling  winds  secure 
The  hawk  high  soaring,  eagle  heard  remote, 
The  jay's  bright  plumage,  robin's  plaintive  note, 


SCENES     FROM    THE    PAST.  43 

The  squirrel  chittering,  and  the  owl  demure, 
May  grave  or  sportive  thoughts,  by  turns,  promote, 
In  gentle  hearts  with  feelings  warm  as  pure. 


II. 


Far  up  the  rocky  glen,  where  close  confined, 

Narrowing  and  closing  on  my  lonely  way, 
The  hills  shut  in  around  me,  soft  reclined 

On  mossy  bank,  I  drop  the  rod  ;  nor  stray 
Further  for  pleasure  now  ;  more  bent  to  find 
Food  fitted  for  the  cravings  of  the  mind, 

Then  studious,  with  nice  art  of  fly  and  string, 
The  watery  tribe  with  patient  toil  to  win. 

A  boy,  I  watched  their  gambols,  and  would  fling 

Crumbs  in  the  stream,  &,  laugh,  when  they  would  spring 
To  seize  their  dainty  food,  thrown  sportive  in. 

If  this  seems  childish  now,  I  yet  can  share 
The  gentle  transport  of  each  glancing  fin, 

Nor  break,  with  guileful  art,  their  pastime  there. 


THE     SPORTSMAN. 


I. 


He  cannot  paint,  who  has  not  felt,  the  joy 
Of  eager  sportsman  here,  when,  gun  in  hand, 
With  well  trained  dog,  sagacious,  at  command, 


44  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

He  seeks  the  wild  wood's  covert :  ne'er  was  boy, 

From  school  broke  loose,  more  earnest  to  enjoy 
Largely  his  hour  of  freedom.     Far  he  strays 
Through  trackless  wastes,  mid  wild  uncultured  ways, 

In  glad  pursuit :  nor  tangled  woods  annoy, 

Nor  streams  his  course  delay  :   so  game  abound, 
As  little  recks  the  sportsman  as  his  hound, 

Of  distance,  toil,  or  danger,  sun,  or  shade  ; 
Till  darkness  turn  his  wandering  steps  aside, 
Reluctant  still,  unwearied  in  the  pride 

Of  conscious  power,  in  sylvan  sports  displayed. 


II. 


Dear  is  the  sport,  yet  should  my  rifle  bring 

Yon  loud  file-leader  from  his  flock  on  high, 
Or  eagle,  fluttering  on  disabled  wing, 

No  more  to  mount  exulting  through  the  sky, 
From  me  his  fall  a  kindred  pang  would  bring : 
Then  safely  soar  aloft,  proud  feathery  king  ! 
Foe  to  the  fold,  the  ravenous  wolf  must  die, 
Nor  less  the  prowling  fox ;  but  bounding  by, 
Oh !  let  the  light  deer  pass  thee  ;  nor  molest 
The  wood-duck,  brooding  on  her  downy  nest. 
The  surly  bear,  and  savage  wild-cat's  rage 
May  well  thy  courage  try,  thy  skill  engage ; 
But  spare  each  gentler  brood  :  man  was  not  made 
To  roam,  unchecked,  the  tyrant  of  the  glade. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

A  DAY  AT  THE   GREAT  BOAR'S   HEAD, 

HAMPTON  BEACH. 

.' 

Up  and  abroad,  the  day  is  nigh ; 

Old  ocean's  waves  are  dashing, 
Their  proud  tops  curling,  as  on  high 

They  rise,  the  rude  shore  lashing  : 
Up  and  abroad,  ere  rising  day 
Hath  swept  the  shades  of  night  away. 

E'en  now  the  sky  has  changed  its  hue, 

As  upward  freshly  darting, 
The  first  faint  rays  of  light  pierce  through, 

Athwart  the  thin  clouds  parting  ; 
And  lo  !  from  out  the  burning  sea 
The  sun  is  rising  gloriously. 

Hil  flashing  beams  are  proudly  thrown 

On  dome  and  steeple  shining ; 
While  valley  broad  and  forest  lone 

Lie  deep  in  shade  reclining  ; 
Their  darkened  glens  not  yet  may  know 
The  lights  that  on  yon  summits  glow. 

Down  to  the  beach,  where  countless  waves 

Along  the  shore  are  beating, 
We  haste,  o'er  sands  which  ocean  laves, 

Advancing  or  retreating, 
To  watch,  beneath  the  rising  ray, 
The  restless  billows  heave  and  play. 
5 


46  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

What  swarms  of  insects,  on  the  sand, 

Come  gaily  forth  a-sunning  ; 
And  small  birds  on  the  level  strand, 

Are  mid  the  shoal  waves  running ; 
While  flashing  oar,  or  distant  sail 
Reflects  the  ray,  or  courts  the  gale. 

Not  for  the  walk  alone  we  come  ; 

But  quick,  our  garments  stripping, 
We  plunge  amid  the  ocean  foam, 

Then  rise,  with  heads  all  dripping! 
While  waves,  o'er  which  we  proudly  ride, 
Would  beat  us  back,  with  adverse  pride. 

But  no  —  'twere  base  if  so  we  yield  : 
The  watery  terrors  quelling, 

We  push  athwart  the  billowy  field, 
With  hearts  as  proudly  swelling ; 

And  lightly  now  its  perils  brave, 

Like  sea-birds  rising  on  the  wave. 

Though  waves  dash  high  against  the  rock, 

In  foam  around  us  falling, 
We  fear  not,  we  !  the  angry  shock, 

Nor  deem  its  wrath  appalling  ; 
Our  light  limbs  moving  mid  the  spray 
Like  dolphins  darting  in  their  play. 

And  soon,  along  the  level  sand, 

Our  steps  again  are  pacing, 
Close  where  the  water  meets  the  land, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

The  wrecks  of  ocean  tracing  ; 
Each  plant,  and  shell,  and  shining  stone, 
Along  the  beach  at  random  thrown. 

What  varied  hues  and  shapes  are  seen, 
Amidst  the  wet  sands  shining, 

Rich  shells,  with  sea  weeds,  purple,  green, 
Their  varied  charms  combining  ; 

The  daily  tribute  ocean  pours 

Profuse  along  her  thousand  shores. 

But  breakfast  calls;  and,  that  soon  o'er, 

The  board  abruptly  leaving, 
With  eager  haste  we  seek  the  shore, 

Where  lies  our  sail-boat  heaving  ; 
Aboard  —  aboard  —  make  no  delay  — 
The  sail  is  set  —  away  —  away. 

The  bounding  boat  shoots  swift  along, 
The  green  waves  lightly  cleaving, 

As  cheered  by  shout  and  merry  song, 
The  shore  at  distance  leaving, 

We  plough  the  main,  and  gaily  sweep 

Far  outward  through  the  sounding  deep. 

Pausing,  at  length,  while  hook  and  line 

The  finny  tribe  are  seizing, 
Our  bosoms  feel  the  heaving  brine, 

With  qualm  and  retch  displeasing  ; 
While  tossing  boat  and  comrade's  jest 
Unsettle  many  a  troubled  breast ! 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Tired  of  such  sport,  again  we  run, 
Now  towards  the  near  shore  standing ; 

And  deem  our  fortunes  fairly  won, 
When  on  the  rough  rocks  landing ; 

Then  jesting,  laughing,  ocean  leaving, 

We  care  not,  we !  for  wild  waves  heaving. 

And  soon  around  the  board  we  meet, 

All  meaner  cares  forsaking  ; 
While  each  enjoys  that  rare  won  treat, 

The  fish  of  his  own  taking, 
And  fondly  deems  that  n'er  till  now, 
Such  dainty  fare  did  fate  allow. 

The  dinner  o'er,  on  couch,  or  chair, 

Each  sated  guest  reclining, 
Takes  gently  his  siesta  there  ; 

Till,  in  the  west  declining, 
The  sloping  sun  has  ceased  to  throw 
Oppressive  heats  on  earth  below. 

Then  forth  we  fare  —  and  some  are  seen 

At  ninepins  briskly  rolling  ; 
While  others  on  the  flowery  green, 

Along  the  banks  are  strolling  ; 
Or,  gun  in  hand,  wend  far  away, 
On  marsh,  or  down,  to  win  their  prey. 

Some,  moralizing  deep,  explore 

The  scenes  around  them  spreading, 
Lone  wandering  on  the  distant  shore, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  49 

'  f  - 

The  smooth  sands  softly  treading  ; 
While  thoughts  of  home  and  friends  afar, 
Come  gently  with  the  evening  star. 

And  slowly  rising  from  the  main, 

The  moon's  mild  beams  are  shining, 
In  pensive  beauty  o'er  the  plain, 

To  quiet  thoughts  inclining, 
That  wake  in  manhood's  musing  breast 
Visions  of  love,  of  joy,  and  rest. 

And  bland,  as  waves  that  round  us  fall, 

In  gentle  murmurs  dying, 
Our  softened  hearts  once  more  recall 

The  hopes  of  youth  fast  flying ; 
While  beat  our  measured  pulses  free, 
Responsive  to  the  sounding  sea. 

Tomorrow's  dawn  will  find  again 

Our  steeds  their  paths  retracing  ; 
And  other  scenes,  on  hill  and  plain, 

These  scenes  and  sights  displacing, 
Will  turn  our  thoughts  from  ocean's  roar, 
To  sylvan  sounds  and  shades  once  more. 

But  Hampton  !  in  our  memories  yet 

This  day  of  joy  remaining, 
Shall  wake  the  sigh  of  fond  regret, 

Its  gentle  hold  retaining  ; 
While  fancy's  dreams  shall  oft  restore 
The  walks  along  thy  winding  shore. 
5* 


50  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Nahant  may  boast  her  stately  domes, 
The  power  of  wealth  displaying  : 

But  he,  who  here  in  quiet  roams, 
Old  ocean's  pomp  surveying, 

Will  fear  least  works  of  man  impair 

The  beauty  of  a  scene  so  fair. 


IE  ®  ®  2) , 

^^    ^^          f 


OR 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST, 


BOOK    SECOND. 


THE    DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 


* 


CONTENTS. 

THE  ANCESTRAL  SEAT — Love — To  Eliza — SansSouci — Evening  Walk 
— Young  Love — The  Heart — The  Evening  Ride — The  Eglantine — Free 
aS*  the  Waves — The  Willing  Captive — Love's  Measure — The  Wed 
ding—Wedded  Love— The  Father— The  Daughter— The  Boy— Children 
— The  Image — The  Garden — Flowers — To  Mary — The  Snow  Birds — 
Adaline — Mutual  Love — Anniversary  of  the  Wedding. 


•'< 


OR 

SCENES   FROUI  THE   PAST. 

BOOK    SECOND. 
THE    DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 


THE    ANCESTRAL    SEAT. 

By  filial  reverence  led,  I  seek  the  seat, 
Where  first  my  far  progenitor  his  home 
Found  in  this  western  wild,  and  reared  his  dome 
Hard  by  this  pleasant  stream.     Here  oft  his  feet 
Paced  the  lone  strand,  while  waves  from  ocean  beat 

_.        y 

Along  his  path,  —  those  waves,  so  late,  that  bore 
The  pilgrim  father  from  his  native  shore. 

Did  they  remind  him,  in  this  far  retreat, 

Of  England's  cultured  fields,  by  him  no  more 
Revisited  ?  Belike,  till  tears  ran  o'er 

Of  tender  grief;  yet  he  nor  hardship  feared, 
Nor  savage  foe-;  but  gladly,  on  the  rock, 
Fixed  here  his  home  ;  nor  time,  nor  tempest's  shock 

Hath  levelled  yet  the  structure  which  he  reared. 


54  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

II. 

Firm  builded,  like  his  own  strong  heart,  it  stands, 
By  time  compacted.     Twice  an  hundred  years 
Are  come,  and  gone  ;  yet  still  this  mansion  rears 

Its  antique  front ;  nor  e'er  to  stranger  hands 
Hath  passed,  from  hardy  sire  to  blameless  son 
Transmitted  still,  as  each  his  course  has  run. 

South,  north,  and  west,  his  race  is  scattered  wide, 

Through  distant  states  ;  and  some  their  way  have  found 
To  public  scenes,  and  trod  life's  busy  round, 

A  moment,  in  high  halls  of  power  and  pride  : 

Less  blest  than  those,  who  here  their  wishes  bound 

In  life's  low  vale ;  like  stream,  whose  waters  sleep 
Calm  at  their  source,  yet,  borne  amid  the  sound 

Of  distant  broils,  run  headlong  o'er  the  steep. 


III. 


Mid  broils  of  public  life  it  runs  to  waste, 

The  stream  of  quiet  thought  and  feeling  kind, 
Which  else  might  pause,  to  fertilize  the  mind. 

But  happier  these,  at  fitting  distance  placed 

Alike  from  wealth  and  want,  their  course  have  traced, 
Age  after  age,  through  scenes  of  useful  toil, 
And  lowly  virtues  :  .they  the  victor's  spoil, 

The  pomp  of  power,  the  poet's  laurel  crown, 
Nor  sought,  nor  envied.     So  their  efforts  gained 

Health,  leisure,  competence,  they  sate  them  down 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  55 

With  these  content ;  nor  e'er  their  spirits  strained, 
In  life's  mad  race,  for  fortune,  power,  renown. 
Enough,  while  virtue's  smile  their  labours  blest, 
If  love  waked  rapture  in  each  blameless  breast. 

LOVE. 
I. 

Love  is  the  blending  of  two  youthful  hearts, 

Each  in  the  other  fused  ;  union  entire 

Of  end  and  aim,  in  passion's  glowing  fire, 
Which  leaves  nor  fracture,  nor  discordant  parts  ; 
Abandonment  of  self,  and  selfish  arts, 

In  generous  transports  of  intense  desire, 
Intense  as  pure  —  a  feeling  infinite, 
Which  with  unbounded  service  would  requite 

The  boon  it  craves ;  yet  cannot  less  require 
Than  heart  for  heart,  true  love's  undoubted  right. 
Modest  and  diffident,  and  of  his  might 

Distrustful  ever,  yet  doth  Love  aspire 
To  boundless  sway,  and  spreads  his  gentle  power 
Alike  o'er  lordly  hall  and  lowly  bower. 

II. 

•    "    -    *fe  r    ;    " 

% 
I  tire  of  days  in  loveless  labour  past, 

By  beauty's  smile  unblest.     Man  was  not  made 
For  selfish  joy  or  sorrow  :  sad,  o'ercast, 
With  hopes  that  fade,  and  joys  that  wither  fast, 


56  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

He  droops,  untended,  in  the  lonely  shade. 

His  paradise  on  earth,  his  heaven  portrayed, 
Is  woman's  unbought  love :  all  earth  beside 
Would  dark  and  worthless  prove,  were  this  denied. 

For  n'er  ambition's  spoils,  nor  heaps  of  gain 
The  longings  of  desire  could  sate,  or  hush 

The  hearts  wild  transports,  throbbing  to  attain 
True  bliss  :  but  oh  !  when  love's  warm  currents  gush 

From  kindred  hearts  commingling,  man  again 

Finds  Eden's  primal  bliss,  else  sought  in  vain. 


TO    ELIZA. 

Ask  not  of  me  the  glowing  line 
Which  truth  should  pour  to  worth  like  thine  ; 
Nor  deem  my  muse,  in  happiest  hour, 
Could  give  to  verse  thy  beauty's  power. 
Now  e'en  my  wonted  skill  is  gone ; 
My  harp  has  lost  each  cheerful  tone ; 
Its  cords  are  broken,  and  in  vain 
I  strive  to  wake  its  notes  again. 
Yet  ask  riot  why ;  for,  sooth  to  tell, 
Tis  more  than  I  can  answer  well. 
I  have  no  cause  to  grieve  or  sigh  ; 
My  friends  are  true,  no  foes  have  I ; 
Or,  if  I  have,  so  small  my  care, 
I  scorn  to  question  who  they  are. 

Yet  in  the  midst  of  joy  I  find 
Some  discontent  still  lurk  behind  ; 


• .     •    •  •       •   •  •  -w*  ' 

SCENES    FKOM    THE    PAST.  57 

A  pleasing  pain,  a  gentle  grief, 

That  soothes,  indulged,  nor  asks  relief. 

What  may  it  be  ?     Not  thirst  of  gain  : 
I  n'er  indulged  a  wish  so  vain. 
With  competence  supplied,  what  more 
Can  I  desire  from  fortune's  store  1 
To  whom  her  gifts  are  largest  lent, 
She  sends,  to  mar  them,  discontent; 
The  seeming  poor  are  rich  alone 
In  blessings,  to  the  rich  unknown. 
Nor  have  my  humble  hopes  been  crost 
By  vain  regrets  for  honors  lost. 
Ambition  springs  from  folly's  root, 
Its  blosom  fair,  but  harsh  the  fruit; 
And  they  attain,  who  taste  such  food, 
Knowledge  of  evil,  more  than  good. 

What  may  it  be  1     And  must  t  own 
That  time  has  somewhat  changed  my  tone  ; 
That  he  who  laughed  at  love's  light  flame, 
And  mocked  at  Cupid's  erring  aim, 
Who  cased  his  heart  in  ribs  of  steel, 
Has  almost  learned,  at  last,  to  feel. 
The  ice  around  his  heart  gives  way, 
It  thaws,  it  melts,  beneath  the  ray, 
The  ray  of  love,  so  mild,  so  bright, 
'Tis  heaven  to  dwell  within  its  light. 

I  am  content,  while  others  rise, 
To  read  my  fate  in  woman's  eyes ; 
And  while  they  strive,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
The  barren  heights  of  power  to  gain, 
I  care  not,  —  so  the  quickening  smile 
5 


58  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Of  beauty  cheer  my  path  the  while,  — 
What  fields  they  win,  what  perils  brave  : 
I  will  not  be  ambition's  slave; 
Nor  slave  to  gain,  since  I  have  prest 
A  milder  mistress  to  my  breast : 
And  while,  within  the  flowery  vale 
She  wanders,  listening  to  my  tale, 
And  half  receives,  and  half  denies, 
The  balmy  breath  of  passion's  sighs, 
Say,  shall  I  hazard  joys  like  these 
For  lust  of  gold,  the  fool's  disease  ; 

For  love  of  power,  the  bane  of  those 

-     - 
Who  shun  their  friends  to  seek  their  foes ! 

Oh !  n'er  may  my  fond  wishes  tend 
Beyond  the  hope  of  one  kind  friend, 
One  bosom  friend,  upon  whose  breast 
My  troubled  thoughts  may  sink  to  rest. 
Without  such  friend  how  sad  is  life ! 
Tis  worse  than  want,  disease,  or  strife, 
To  look  abroad,  and  no  where  find 
The  twin-birth  of  our  loving  mind. 
Where  such  is  found,  each  earthly  ill, 
Transmuted,  brings  its  pleasure  still ; 
And  life  is  blest,  beyond  annoy, 
Where  mutual  hearts  that  bliss  enjoy. 
The  hearts,  that  love's  pure  transports  warm, 
Beat  higher  still  amidst  the  storm  ; 
And  nearer,  as  misfortunes  press, 
Cling  closer  to  the  dear  caress ; 
The  glance  from  either's  eye  that  parts, 
The  fire  that  warms  their  faithful  hearts. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  59 

But  whither  strays  my  wandering  Muse  1 
The  lay  you  asked,  could  I  refuse  ? 
No,  truly  ;  and  I  bade  her  sing 
Your  praises  to  the  tuneful  string  ; 
But  she,  in  loose  disjointed  verse, 
My  cares  chose  rather  to  rehearse. 
Yet  pardon,  if  these  numbers  tell 
Of  thoughts  that  in  my  bosom  swell  ; 
Since  verse  is  but  the  wave  that  shows 
The  heart's  full  flood  of  joy  or  woes ; 
And  mine  has  poured  its  little  stream 
To  sparkle  in  thy  tranquil  beam ; 
To  heave  beneath  that  gentle  ray, 
Which  smiles  the  cares  of  life  away. 


SANS    SOUCI. 

Careless  I  the  scenes  behold 
Where  the  sons  of  folly  toil ; 

Love  of  power,  or  lust  of  gold 
Struggling  still  in  ceaseless  broil. 

Warriors  fierce  may  fight  for  fame, 
Misers  count  their  sordid  gains ; 

I  contemn  the  warrior's  name, 
And  despise  the  niggard's  pains. 

Statesmen  proud  may  toil  and  fret 
In  the  maze  of  public  cares  ; 

They  shall  find  to  their  regret, 

All  their  paths  thick  set  with  snares. 


I 


60  SCENES    PROM    THE    PAST. 

E'en  the  honors  they  have  won, 
Envy's  breath  full  soon  shall  blast ; 

Ere  the  triumph  is  begun, 
Lo !  its  pleasures  all  are  past. 

And  the  poet's  sounding  lay, 

Can  it  save  the  bard  from  death  I 

Or  is  fame,  vain  babbler  !  say, 
Ought  but  life  in  other's  breath? 

Let  weak  pedants  idly  trim 

Science'  midnight  lamp  with  care  : 

Such  dull  studies  please  not  him 
Whose  delight  is  in  the  Fair. 

Me  far  other  joys  invite, 

Pleasure's  flowery  paths  to  prove  ; 
Where  each  scene  of  fond  delight 

Wakes  the  willing  mind  to  love. 

Yes,  in  love's  endearing  arms 
Circled  close  could  I  remain, 

Earth  has  nought,  with  all  its  charms, 
E'er  to  win  me  back  again. 


THE    EVENING    WALK 

I  would  not  give  one  happy  hour 

Among  the  breezy  hills, 
For  days,  in  pleasure's  crowded  bower, 

Which  wealth  with  folly  fills. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  61 

What  are  their  joys,  such  crowds  among, 

To  mine  beneath  the  sky  ; 
Their  wine,  their  dance,  their  jovial  song, 

To  nature's  melody  ? 

The  birds  my  quiresters  shall  be, 

That  pipe  on  bush  and  spray ; 
The  babbling  brook  dance  light  for  me 

Adown  his  winding  way. 

The  wind,  that  with  my  flowing  hair 

Still  wantons  up  and  down, 
Shall  waft  away  the  weight  of  care, 

Which  wine  could  never  drown. 

And  tender  thoughts  of  thee,  my  love ! 

Shall  fill  each  pause  between ; 
While  swift  my  willing  footsteps  move, 

To  meet  thee  on  the  green. 

What  though  no  lighter  foot  than  thine 

E'er  mingled  in  the  dance  ; 
And  other  eyes  but  dimly  shine 

Beside  thy  merry  glance  : 

Yet  dearer  far  that  step  to  me, 

Light  moving  by  my  side  ; 
And  sweeter  here,  that  smile  to  see, 

Than  in  yon  hall  of  pride. 

The  sky  is  clear,  and  mild  the  air, 
The  trees  with  blossoms  sweet ; 

5* 


62  SCENES  PROM  THE  PAST. 

But  oh  !  more  sweet,  beyond  compare, 
When  youthful  lovers  meet ; 

When  youthful  lovers,  in  the  vale, 

Are  free  to  wander  far ; 
While  passion  breathes  his  tender  tale 

Beneath  the  evening  star. 

Beneath  the  evening  star,  that  now 
Hangs  fondly  lingering  here, 

As  if  to  seal  the  earnest  vow 
Youth  pours  in  beauty's  ear. 

And  oh  !  the  blush  of  opening  flower 

Was  n'er  so  rosy  fair, 
As  in  love's  first  confiding  hour, 

Was  beauty's  silence  there  ; 

. 
Was  beauty's  silence,  while  she  heard 

My  passion  in  that  glen  ; 
For  though  her  tongue  withheld  the  word, 
Brow,  eye,  cheek  answered  then. 

Base  were  the  heart,  with  madness  fraught, 

Such  virtue  could  assail ; 
Or  soil  such  purity  of  thought, 

With  lawless  passion's  tale. 

Yon  starry  Queen  of  soft  desire 

Is  pure  as  she  is  bright ; 
And  love  is  like  that  heavenly  fire, 

An  orb  of  stainless  light ! 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  63 


YOUNG    LOVE. 

Young  love  is  delicate  as  rose, 

That  blushes  on  the  virgin's  breast, 

Ere  yet  its  opening  leaves  disclose 
The  fragrance  in  its  bosom  prest. 

The  blush  on  beauty's  changeful  cheek 
To  others  may  the  truth  make  known ; 

But  she  fears  e'en  love's  name  to  speak, 
Scarce  breathed  in  whispers  when  alone. 

Yet  in  her  inmost  soul  she  feels 
Emotions,  words  can  ill  explain  ; 

Delirious  transports,  joy  that  steals, 

She  knows  not  how,  o'er  heart  and  brain  ; 

And  wonders  who  that  guest  may  be, 
So  wild,  unknown,  yet  welcome  there ; 

Sworn  foe  to  all  tranquility, 
Yet  dear  as  fondest  wishes  are. 

I*      /  ;  .      *"- 

Why  is  it  that  her  pulse  so  thrills, 
Unwonted,  when  the  loved  one  near, 

With  soft  persuasive  tongue,  distils 
Love's  gentle  promptings  in  her  ear. 

With  guile  of  innocence,  she  seeks 
The  tumult  of  her  thoughts  to  hide ; 

But  vain,  ah  !  vain  ;  e'en  while  she  speaks, 
Love's  tremour  masters  maiden  pride. 


64  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Oh  !  there  are  seasons  when  the  soul 

Lives  ages  in  a  single  hour  ; 
When  o'er  the  heart  time's  currents  roll, 

Surcharged  with  truths  of  boundless  power. 

A  moment  gives  her  knowledge  now, 
Which  time's  effacing  hand  defies  ; 

'Tis  written  on  that  altered  brow, 
It  sparkles  in  those  conscious  eyes. 

She  loves,  and  knows  it;  feels  that  he, 
The  loved  one,  only  can  bestow, 

On  her  true  bliss  ;  which  yet  must  be 
Shared  still  with  him,  in  weal  or  wo. 

She  would  not,  for  the  world,  resign 
The  full  fruition  of  that  heart ; 

Or  brook  another  e'er  should  join, 
To  share  with  her  its  smallest  part. 

Yet  delicate,  and  fearful  still, 

She  seeks  her  cherished  joy  to  hide  ; 

And  shrinks,  as  from  acknowledged  ill, 
To  own  that  flame  to  ought  beside. 

Oh  !  in  the  depth  of  woman's  thought, 
A  treasure  dwells  of  peerless  price  : 

In  vain  by  power,  by  wealth  'tis  sought, 
For  pride  too  high,  too  pure  for  vice. 

Tis  love ;  and  answering  love  must  claim 
The  dovvery  rich  which  she  bestows  ; 

A  virgin  heart,  whose  tender  flame 
With  passion's  purest  ardour  glows. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  (35 


THE    HEART. 

It  is  not  that  my  love  is  fair, 

And  blithe  as  bird  in  opening  spring  ; 
With  cheerful  brow,  that  laughs  at  care, 

And  tones  that  gay  with  rapture  ring. 

But  'tis  the  kindness  of  her  heart, 
That  melts  at  thought  of  human  \vo  ; 

That  takes  in  every  grief  a  part, 

And  soothes  the  guilt  it  cannot  know. 

Then  well  may  joy's  quick  pulse  be  hers, 

The  airy  fancy's  nimble  play, 
Whose  smile,  where'er  she  turns,  confers 

Its  light  alike  on  grave  and  gay. 

Alike  on  grave  and  gay,  who  feel 
The  bliss  such  purity  bestows  ; 

Where  earnest  thought,  where  modest  zeal, 
Where  warmth  of  love  from  virtue  flows. 

Light  sport  and  frolic  are,  with  her, 

So  native  to  that  joyous  heart, 
That  you  might  deem  her  doomed  to  err, 

So  wild  of  will,  so  void  of  art. 

Yet  look  again,  and  in  her  eye 

Reflection  sits,  with  love  inshrined  ; 

Warm  hopes  are  there,  and  feelings  high, 
A  cheerful  heart,  a  thoughtful  mind. 


f)0  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

THE    EVENING    RIDE. 

On,  swiftly  on,  my  gentle  steed  ! 
That  bear'st  me  to  my  love  again  ; 

And  I  will  bless  thine  airy  speed, 

That  bounds  alike  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
And  needs  nor  spur,  nor  guiding  rein. 

And  yet,  methinks,  on  wings  of  love, 

The  willing  heart  would  swifter  move. 

O  would  I  were  the  bird  that  sings, 
Beside  his  mate,  on  yonder  spray  ; 

How  would  I  haste,  on  trembling  wings, 
To  warble,  ere  the  close  of  day, 
Around  her  bower,  love's  lively  lay  ; 

And  chase  again,  ere  morning  rise, 

The  shades  of  night  from  beauty's  eyes. 

Or,  were  I  but  the  evening  wind, 

That  breathes  so  softly  round  me  here, 

Soon  would  I  leave  thy  speed  behind ; 
And  in  that  bower,  to  fancy  dear, 
Soft  entering,  fil!  her  listening  ear, 

In  strains  that  fall  like  evening  dew, 

With  notes  of  love,  pure,  tender,  true. 

Or,  were  I  but  the  rill  that  strays 
Where  oft,  at  noon,  her  fairy  feet 

Glance  lightly  by,  —  the  rill  that  plays, 
Within  yon  sheltering  grove's  retreat, 
Around  her  summer's  shaded  seat,  — 

How  would  my  murmuring  waves  rejoice, 

Responsive  to  her  gentle  voice. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  67 

Then  haste,  my  steed  !  that  I  may  check, 

Ere  evening  close,  thy  fleet  career ; 
While  her  soft  hand  thy  arching  neck 

And  flowing  mane,  may  smooth  and  clear, 

With  fond  caress,  in  guerdon  dear 
That  thy  fleet  limbs,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
So  well  have  borne  her  love  aorain. 


THE    EGLANTINE. 


My  love  is  like  the  wilding  rose, 

In  yonder  quiet  glen  ;  . 
That  springs  unseen,  and  sweetly  blows, 

Remote  from  paths  of  men. 

The  sun  shines  bright,  the  gay  birds  sing, 
And  soft  the  south  wind  sighs, 

As,  waving  o'er  the  crystal  spring, 
It  meets  my  wondering  eyes. 

But  I  have  built  a  fairer  bower, 
Where  suns  more  brightly  shine  ; 

And  fain  would  plant  this  blushing  flower 
Beside  that  fount  of  mine. 

Oh  !  could  I  in  my  border  set 

This  rose  of  love  so  fair, 
And  see  its  buds,  with  dew  drops  wet, 

Expand  in  beauty  there  ; 


68  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

No  ruffling  winds  of  spring  should  chill 

The  soft  unfolding  flower  ; 
Nor  mildew  blight,  nor  canker  kill 

My  wilding  in  that  bower. 

But  evening  dews  should  settle  soft 

In  silence  round  the  stem  ; 
And  morning  breezes  murmur  oft, 

To  greet  my  garden's  gem. 

Then  come,  sweet  rose !  to  dwell  with  me, 

In  fairer  groves  than  this  ; 
Where  still  thy  boughs  may  flourish  free, 

Mid  scenes  of  brighter  bliss. 

There  shall  the  bird  of  eve  prolong 

For  thee  his  plaintive  trill ; 
There  love  shall  pour  a  warmer  song. 

To  wake  thy  blushes  still. 

And  deeper  shall  those  blushes  glow, 

Mid  sweeter  music  there  : 
While  streams  of  pleasure  broader  flow, 

Through  fields  more  softly  fair. 

FREE    AS    THE    WAVES. 

The  hearts  that  own  the  sway 
Of  beauty's  gentle  reign, 

Are  like  the  waves  that  play 
Along  the  heaving  main. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

When'er  the  queen  of  night 
Looks  forth  with  loving  eye, 

They  sparkle  in  her  light, 

And  toss  their  proud  chests  high. 

In  glad  captivity, 

Along  the  ocean  plains, 
With  bounding  billows  free, 

They  wanton  in  their  chains. 

I  would  not  sever,  love  ! 

Thy  gentle  hold  on  me, 
An  outcast  wide  to  rove, 

In  loveless  liberty. 

For  thou  hast  wreathed  with  flowers 

Thy  band  of  magic  art, 
That  binds,  in  beauty's  bowers, 

Thy  votary's  willing  heart. 


THE    WILLING    CAPTIVE 

Oh  !  boast  not  thou  art  free, 

Because  by  love  untried  ; 
Such  cheerless  liberty 

Is  but  the  stoic's  pride. 

And  he,  whom  love  hath  bound 

In  beauty's  smiling  train, 
A  willing  captive  found, 

Rejoices  in  his  chain. 
6 


70  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

The  gay  birds,  that  pursue 
Each  insect  on  the  wing, 

Are  to  their  mates  still  true, 
Love-fettered,  while  they  sing. 

The  soft  south  wind,  that  courts 
Yon  bank  of  blushing  flowers, 

Is  not  more  free,  nor  sports 
More  lightly  mid  the  bowers. 

The  world's  a  prison  wide, 
If  sundered,  love  !   from  thee  ; 

But  seated  by  thy  side, 

I'm  bound,  at  once,  and  free  : 

Free,  as  the  streams  that  sweep 
Rejoicing  o'er  the  plain  ; 

Yet  bound,  like  them,  to  keep 
Right  onward  to  the  main. 


LO  V  E'S    MEASURE. 

Small  rills  along  the  rocks 
Run  babbling  on  their  way, 

With  brawling  sound,  that  mocks, 
The  ripple's  idle  play. 

But  broader  streams  that  go 
In  currents  more  profound, 

Are  silent  as  they  flow, 

Too  deep  for  useless  sound. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  71 

Thus  love,  that  can  express 

The  fulness  of  its  joy, 
Shows  but  its  shallowness  ; 

So  weak,  it  soon  must  cloy. 

Where  true  affection  is, 

A  glance,  a  smile,  a  tear 
Betokens  heartfelt  bliss, 

Unknown  to  doubt  or  fear. 

What  needs  expression  there, 

Where  action  speaks  so  well ; 
Where  look  and  deed  declare 

What  words  could  never  tell. 

The  miser  that  can  count 

His  hoarded  treasures  o'er, 
And  tell  to  what  they  mount, 

May  well  be  reckoned  poor. 

But  love  his  cherished  heap 

In  vain  would  sum  anew  ; 
It  swells  too  fast  to  keep 

The  growing  tally  true. 

So  throwing  careless  by 

The  cold  accountant's  measure, 
He  reads,  in  beauty's  eye, 

Affection's  boundless  treasure, 


72  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


THE    WEDDING. 


"  And  I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife" — so  said, 

In  solemn  tone,  our  reverend  guide,  as  still, 
Hand  linked  in  hand,  he  held  us  —  "  ye  are  wed  : 

"  The  twain  henceforth  are  one."     Oh  !  what  a  thrill 
Ran  through  my  being  then,  of  mingled  dread 

And  joyous  transport ;  dread,  least  I  should  prove 
For  that  high  trust  unworthy ;  joy.  to  find 

The  cherished  vision  of  my  earnest  love 
No  dream  of  fancy  now,  but  fixed,  inshrined, 
Where  inclination  still,  with  willing  mind, 

May  bend  at  duty's  altar.     I  am  now 
No  more,  as  erst,  alone  :  there  beats  for  me 

One  warm  true  heart,  that  feels  the  mutual  vow 
To  live  in  love  unchanged,  though  bound  yet  free. 


WEDDED    LOVE. 
I. 

-  >     ••  •';  .*#  '•' 

The  heart-felt  joys  serene  of  wedded  life, 

(Theme  hard  to  treat,  which  poets  seldom  sing,) 
May  I,  unblamed,  express  1  or  dare  to  bring 
To  public  gaze,  mid  scenes  of  vulgar  strife, 
Charms  that  adorn  the.  matron  and  the  wife? 
Weak  words  but  ill  express  the  joys  that  spring 
Spontaneous,  hovering  still,  on  gentle  wing, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  73 

O'er  wedded  love.     How'er  with  feeling  rife, 

Silence  may  best  that  sacred  theme  befit ; 

The  aim,  so  oft,  of  rude  sarcastic  wit, 
From  ribald  tongues,  and  hearts  that  never  felt 

How  passion,  rising  into  perfect  love, 

Repels  all  grossness,  as  it  soars  above, 
In  virtue's  fires,  refining  while  they  melt. 


II. 


The  loving  heart  is  sorrowful  at  thought 
Of  joy  unshared,  at  pleasure  that  confers 
Delight  on  self  alone  ;  but  leaps  to  hers, 

Whose  kindred  soul,  with  tender  feeling  fraught, 

Its  inmost  being  hath  with  his  inwrought. 
What'er  the  passion  either  bosom  stirs, 
Moves  both  alike,  and  equal  warms  infers  ; 

To  him  'tis  pleasure,  or  to  her  'tis  nought. 
Thus  interfused,  and  blended  into  one, 

Their  mingled  streams  of  mutual  feelings  flow  ; 
Enlarging,  and  enriched,  as  on  they  run, 

By  time,  by  distance  deepened  ;  till  they  know 
No  adverse  purpose,  no  desire  but  this, 
That  each  may  largest  share  the  other's  bliss. 


III. 


Feelings,  till  then  unknown,  with  marriage  rise, 
Duties  with  pleasures  blended  ;  thoughtful  loves 

With  soft  endearment,  Venus'  gentle  doves 
6* 


74  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Inyoked  with  Juno's  statlier  train  ;  the  ties 

Of  home  and  household  ;  thoughts  that  sympathize 

With  social  impulses  ;  and  joys  that  spring 
From  toils,  that  find  rich  recompense  in  love. 

These  now  are  mine   :  and  time,  on  restless  wing, 
Who  seeks  old  hopes,  old  pleasures  to  remove, 

New  hopes,  new  pleasures,  doth  more  largely  bring. 
The  heart,  love-quickened,  strikes  deep  root,  and  sends 
.     Upward  its  branches  high  :  wife,  servants,  friends, 

Find  shelter  in  its  shade  ;  love's  tendrils  cling 
Firm  round  the  stem ;  and  fruit  with  foliage  blends. 


THE    FATHER. 


Deem  not  thy  mind  developed,  nor  the  tone 
Of  moral  power  perfected,  till  the  sight 
Of  thine  own  offspring  bring  at  once  to  light 

Those  inbred  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  alone 

To  pirents,  in  that  blissful  hour,  are  shown  : 

Thoughts  hid  in  nature's  darkness,  till  the  might 
Of  love  parental  in  the  heart  excite 

Hopes,  joys,  and  fears,  to  lonely  breasts  unknown. 
Love  lights  the  torch  of  Hymen ;  but  the  ray 
Of  infant  beauty,  brightening  into  day, 

Gives  lasting  radiance  to  that  living  flame, 
Else  weak,  or  wavering  :  selfish  feelings  yield 
To  social  ties ;  the  Father  stands  revealed, 

Friend,  lover,  guardian  joined  in  that  fond  name. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  75 


THE    DAUGHTER. 


Earth  born  immortal !  can  it  be 

That  in  this  feeble  child, 
Whose  first  faint  gleam  of  thought  I  see, 

Nature  has  reconciled 
Such  strength  with  weakness,  life  to  last, 
Undying,  when  all  time  is  past ; 
A  spirit,  that  shall  spread  and  soar, 
When  sets  yon  sun,  to  rise  no  more. 

> 

Dear  daughter  !  in  thine  infant  face, 

Thy  mother's  look  I  see ; 
And  she,  as  plain,  e'en  now,  can  trace 

Some  features  there  of  me  : 
To  both,  thou  needs  must  largely  owe 
Thy  share  of  bliss,  —  perchance  of  wo,  - 
To  both,  thy  smiles  of  love  repay 
The  watch  by  night,  the  cares  by  day. 

Dear  as  the  life  blood  to  my  heart, 

Daughter  !  for  thy  relief, 
Oh  !  all  unconscious  as  thou  art 

Of  future  joy  or  grief, 
A  father's  love  would  undergo, 
Gladly,  for  thee,  the  weight  of  wo ; 
So  thou  life's  joys  alone  might'st  share, 
Nor  taste  the  cup  of  earthly  care. 


76  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

It  may  not  be  :  to  each  is  given 

That  mingled  cup  to  drain  : 
But  oh  !  for  thee,  may  pitying  heaven 

Mix  largely  joy  with  pain. 
Bright,  as  the  promise  of  thy  youth, 
In  virtue's  paths,  and  paths  of  truth, 
Still  may  thy  light  steps  onward  move, 
With  pleasure  crowned,  and  rich  in  love. 


THE    BOY. 

Up,  my  son  !  and  sport  thee  gaily, 

Ride  the  stick,  and  chase  the  feather  ! 
Thou  art  gaining,  weekly,  daily, 

Hourly,  strength,  no  bands  can  tether  ; 
Searching  eye,  and  ready  ear, 
Quick  to  see,  and  prompt  to  hear  ; 
Hands,  whose  fingers  fain  would  try 
All  that  meets  thine  eager  eye  ; 
Feet,  that  bear  thee,  restless  still, 
O'er  the  plain,  and  up  the  hill, 
Up  the  hill,  and  down  the  hollow, 
Faster  than  thy  nurse  can  follow  ! 

Life,  e'en  now,  is  opening  here 
All  her  treasures  to  thy  view  ; 

Spreading  daily,  broad  as  clear, 

Marvels  round  thee,  strange  as  new. 

From  the  ant-hill  to  the  mountain, 

In  the  wood,  or  by  the  fountain, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  77 

Where  the  'customed  eye  can  see 
Nought  to  notice,  there,  for  thee, 
Shining  fair,  in  glory  bright, 
All  things  waken  new  delight, 
As  thou  still,  with  fresh  endeavour, 
Onward  mov'st,  reposing  never. 

Drive  the  hoop  then  ;  toss  the  ball ; 

Blow  the  bubble ;  down  the  valley 
Chase  the  wild  brook  to  its  fall ; 

And  in  dingle,  grove,  and  alley, 
Find  thou  pleasure,  found  not  there 
By  the  sons  of  toil  and  care; 
Found  in  breath  of  evening  breeze, 
In  the  stream,  and  in  the  trees ; 
Found  in  wild  flower,  insect,  bird, 
Squirrel  seen,  or  bittern  heard. 
Life  its  wonders  spreads  before  thee, 
While  the  rainbow  Hope  bends  o'er  thee. 

When  the  lights  of  youth  forsake  thee, 

And  the  shades  of  age  appear, 
Later  years  may  wiser  make  thee, 

Sager,  sadder,  year  by  year  ; 
But  no  future  day  will  bring 
Pleasures  that  more  freshly  spring, 
Than  the  joys  the  hours  allow, 
Glad  one  !  to  thy  young  heart  now. 
Lively  wonder,  feelings  pure, 
Simple  tastes,  could  these  endure, 
Age  with  childhood  then  might  measure 
Time's  dark  gifts  with  youth's  bright  treasure. 


78  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


CHILDREN. 

Fret  not,  nor  turn  aside,  unwedded  eld  ! 
If  entering,  unexpected,  at  my  door, 
Thou  find'st  the  father  stretched  along  the  floor, 

In  childish  sport  with  children  !  nor,  repelled 

By  churlish  thoughts,  be  sympathy  withheld 

From  these  rude  prattlers,  whose  young  hearts  run  o'er 
With  warm  affections  —  felt  by  thee,  of  yore, 

Though  now  forgot.     In  me,  time  hath  not  quelled, 
But  strengthened  rather,  feelings  that  impart 
The  child's  warm  transport  to  the  parent's  heart. 

A  father's  love  thou  know'st  not ;  yet  may'st  see, 
In  these  fond  looks  and  gestures,  ties  that  bind, 
In  firm  yet  tender  bonds,  the  heart  and  mind 

Of  sire  and  child,  in  fondest  sympathy. 


THE    IMAGE. 


'Tis  not  on  canvass,  marble,  bronze  alone 

Man's  image  lies  portrayed  :  the  inward  mind, 
The  fancy,  taste,  the  turn  of  thought,  are  shown, 

The  cast  of  feeling,  rugged  or  refined, 
In  choice  of  outward  forms  ;  in  tree  or  flower, 
Dome,  garden,  grove,  —  what'er  his  plastic  power 

Moulds  to  his  will  —  in  these,  as  plain,  are  seen 
The  mind  that  makes  or  mars  them;  here  the  whole, 

If  stern,  or  lofty,  delicate,  or  mean, 


*-     '  -    *• 

SCENES    FKOM    THE    PAST.  79 

Stands  forth,  exponent  to  the  master's  soul, 

His  inbred  nature,  pictured  largely  here  ; 
Where  all  may  see,  alike  in  sun  and  shade, 

Wrought  by  himself,  in  forms  of  nature  clear, 
The  man,  his  thoughts,  his  image  true  portrayed. 

-~./  .-,',.;        :>    *'' 

THE   GARDEN. 


I. 


With  hawthorn  hedged  around,  and  sheltered  warm 

From  northern  blasts,  and  ocean's  blighting  storm, 

I  walk  through  winding  paths,   with  flowers  o'erspread, 

Mid  rows  of  fruit  trees  rising  o'er  my  head. 

These  hands  have  set  them  all ;  and  not  a  tree 

But  owes  its  shapely  form  and  growth  to  me  : 

Each  nice  variety  of  plant  I  know, 

Bud,  flower,  and  leaf,  what  time  they  swell  and  blow, 

Their  fruit  when  ripened,  what  the  taste  of  each, 

From  pear  slow  rising  to  the  quick  grown  peach  ; 

Plum,  cherry,  quince,  or  apple,  —  cherished  all, 

Alike  when  blooms  unfold,  or  ripe  fruits  fall. 

Friends  of  my  lonely  musings,  each  hath  taught 
Some  lesson,  as  I  roam,  of  pleasing  thought, 
Or  glad  emotion  —  bidding  gay  hopes  shoot 
Their  bright  boughs  forth,  and  see  in  flowers  their  fruit. 
Too  oft,  alas !  beneath  th'  inclement  sky, 
Those  bright  blooms  fade,  those  gay  hopes  withering  die; 


80  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

As  nipped,  by  churlish  blasts,  they  fall  around, 
Like  fruits,  untimely  cast,  that  strew  the  ground. 
Yet  happier  germs  on  hardier  branches  grow, 
And  time's  rich  gifts  on  patient  toil  bestow  : 
And  oft  elate,  prophetic  fancy  sees 
Their  proud  tops  blossomed  in  the  vernal  breeze; 
Or  bowed  in  autumn,  lowly,  with  the  weight 
Of  spring's  rich  promise,  hope's  returning  freight. 

Thus  taught  by  nature,  tempering  hope  with  fear, 
In  tranquil  joy  rolls  round  the  changeful  year, 
With  thoughts  that  soothe,  in  gently  stirred  repose, 
Mid  cares  that  rouse,  in  toil  that  health  bestows. 


II. 


The  rich  may  load  their  tables,  and  imbrute 
Therf  taste  with  dainties,  or,  at  pleasure,  sate 
The  sense  with  fragrance ;  but  nor  rich,  nor  great, 
Find  e'er  in  foreign  flower,  or  purchased  fruit, 
The  joy  he  feels,  whose  care,  like  mine,  can  suit 
To  each  loved  plant  its  nurture  —  pleased  to  wait, 
Till  daily  tendance  grows  affectionate, 
In  fond  attachment,  on  each  flower  and  vine. 

The  pampered  vanity  of  wealth  esteems 
Its  forced  exotic  plants  more  fair  than  mine  : 
Belike  ;  yet  not  for  these  would  I  resign 

My  old  familiar  fruits  :  this  mellon  seems 
To  me  more  rich,  this  dainty  peach  more  fair, 
By  me  so  reared,  than  all  his  treasures  rare. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  81 

FLOWERS. 

I. 

How  sweet,  at  morn  or  eve,  amid  the  flowers, 
To  trace  the  garden  walks,  while  bud  and  bloom 
Of  opening  plants  exhale  their  rich  perfume, 
And  shed  their  rainbow  colours  !  Not  the  bowers, 
Where  Eve  in  Eden  passed  untroubled  hours, 

In  youthful  innocence,  ere  guilt  brought  gloom, 
Could  pleasure  give,  more  free  from  earthly  care. 
Nor  want  we  here,  what  Eve  found  never  there, 

The  parent's  transport,  while  our  eyes  run  o'er 
With  tears  of  rapture,  as  each  happy  child 
Springs  gaily  forth,  with  shout  and  gesture  wild, 

Each  path  to  trace,  each  rich  recess  explore. 
"  Come,  father  !    come  ;  look,  mother  !  look  at  this" — 
Cold  is  his  heart  that  warms  not  at  such  bliss. 


II. 


And  say'st  thou,  sage  economist !  that  flowers 

Are  useless,  since  nor  food,  nor  clothes  they  yield 
To  cold  or  hungry  want,  mere  cumberers  of  the  field ! 

And  is  this  all  ?  and  have  our  boasted  powers 
No  nobler  aim  than  meanly  to  supply 
Our  daily  wants,  to  toil,  gorge,  sleep,  and  die  ? 
7 


82  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Go,  tread  yon  bark-mill  in  its  circuit,  then, 
Of  thankless  labour,  grovelling  to  the  earth, 
With  him,  of  stronger  growth  and  kindred  birth, 

The  beast  thou  driv'st  before  thee  !  leave  to  men, 
Nay,  e'en  to  children,  yonder  girl  and  boy, 

Who  revel  mid  these  walks,  delights  to  find 

In  form  and  fragrance,  which  thy  prouder  mind 
Wants  yet  the  gentler  feeling  to  enjoy. 


III. 


Fait  flowers  are  bland  instructers,  that  still  read 
Deep  lessons  to  the  thoughtful ;  and  infuse 

The  love  of  nature  into  hearts  that  heed 

Their  gentle  teachings.     Ask  not  then  their  use, 

If  grace,  and  beauty,  in  their  train  appear, 
And  love  and  admiration.     These  still  lead 

To  purest  joys,  despite  the  cynic  sneer 
Of  cold  ungenial  natures.     While  I  gaze 

In  silent  pleasure,  as  the  flowers  uprear 
Freely  their  beauties  to  the  rising  sun, 
Or,  timid  shrinking,  strive  in  vain  to  shun, 

Like  modest  beauty,  man's  intrusive  praise, 
I  feel  their  gentle  power  pervade  each  past, 
Till  joy  turns  love  to  virtue  in  the  heart. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  83 


TO    MARY. 

••> 
Enjoy  the  roses  while  they  last, 

Those  beauties  of  an  hour, 
Since  youth,  my  girl !  will  fade  as  fast, 

A  bright  but  transient  flower. 

O  ••','' 

And  see  where  yonder  rose  bud  swells. 
Than  driven  snow  more  white  ; 

Like  virgin  purity,  that  dwells 
In  virtue's  tender  light. 

The  opening  bud,  so  fair  to  view, 

Just  blossoms  to  decay  ; 
Thus  pleasures  lure,  while  life  is  new, 

Then  quickly  pass  away. 

The  shower,  that  lately  drenched  the  rose, 

Its  hues  but  heightens  still : 
Virtue  can  thus  fresh  charms  disclose, 

Mid  storms  of  earthly  ill. 

The  velvet  leaves  invite  thy  touch, 

But  danger  lurks  below  : 
So  pleasure's  flower,  if  pressed  too  much, 

Is  armed  with  thorns  of  wo. 

Yet  one  there  is,  from  danger  free, 

Which  softest  tints  adorn  : 
May  virtuous  love  so  prove  to  thee 

A  rose  without  a  thorn. 


84 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


Snapt  rudely  from  its  parent  stock, 
How  soon  its  sweets  exhale  ! 

So  generous  natures  feel  the  shock, 
When  love  and  friendship  fail. 

But  cherished  well  and  kept  secure, 

Its  odours  long  will  last : 
Thus  virtue's  fragrance  will  endure, 

When  pleasure's  bloom  is  past. 

» 

Their  mild  moralities  the  flowers 

To  thoughts  of  youth  can  teach  ; 
And,  emblemed  fair  amid  the  bowers, 
To  guileless  bosoms  reach. 

What  though  a  shade  of  passing  gloom 
The  fading  flowers  impart; 

Young  Hope,  to  scenes  of  brighter  bloom, 
Can  turn,  as  gay  of  heart. 

O  !  blessing  of  the  early  prime, 
That  sorrow  n'er  can  throw 

The  shadows  of  declining  time 

Where  youth's  bright  splendours  glow. 

Then  revel,  Mary  !  mid  the  flowers, 
That  bloom  around  thee  now  ; 

And,  happy  as  the  rose  crowned  hours, 
With  bright  smiles  wreath  thy  brow. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PA/  87 


THE    SNOW 
«» 

N>  \  :  S         -          .. 

The  darkened  sky  and  flee 

Portend  the  coming  storm  ; 
The  winds  are  whistling  shrill  and  loud, 

Thick  clouds  the  sky  deform. 

The  horse  has  sought  his  stable  near, 

The  fowl  their  roost  on  high  ; 
The  sheep  in  crouded  ranks  appear, 

The  kine  come  slowly  by. 

r-V'».i'*->i};V'--          i'-,rv 
Tis  then  that,  swept  adown  the  blast, 

With  glancing  bosoms  bright, 
The  Snow  Birds,  thronging  thick  and  fast, 

Before  my  window  light. 

They  light,  then  sudden  whirl  again, 

In  ordered  measure  darting  ; 
As  if  one  impulse  still  could  rein 

Their  ranks,  now  closed,  now  parting, 

Hardy  and  fearless,  mid  the  storm 

Their  nimble  pinions  play  ; 
Scarce  pausing  while  I  catch  their  form, 

Or  hail  them  on  their  way. 

. 

Say,  come  ye,  wanderers  !  to  disclose 
The  secrets  of  your  home  ; 

7* 


84  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Where  darkness  broods  o'er  norland  snows, 
And  storms  forever  roam  ? 

And  have  your  tiny  winglets  played 

In  boreal  blasts  afar, 
Where  roves  the  lonely  Indian  maid 

Beneath  the  polar  star  ? 

Say,  does  the  vernal  warmth  suffice, 

In  faithful  hearts,  to  rear 
Love's  cherished  hopes,  mid  stormy  skies, 

Nor  dread  th'  inclement  year? 

Or  haste  ye  now,  before  the  breeze, 

A  milder  sky  to  prove, 
Where,  mid  the  boughs  of  southern  trees, 

Ye  build  your  nests  of  love  ? 

Not  vain  the  lesson  that  you  give, 
Though  brief  your  sojourn  here, 

If,  taught  by  you,  we  learn  to  live 
Unmoved  mid  tempests  drear. 

The  birds  are  gone ;   but  swift  as  they, 

Can  fancy's  pinions  move, 
And  follow  far,  o'er  hills  away, 

To  scenes  through  which  they  rove  ; 

i  *  -    •        •        - 

Their  winter  home,  where  wild  flowers  blow 

In  many  a  sheltered  glen  ; 
Mid  woodland  glades,  and  streams  that  flow 

Unvisited  of  men. 


SCENES    FltOM    THE    PAST.  87 

Come,  Mary  !  come,  since  thou  no  more 

Their  lively  flight  may'st  see, 
And  join  thy  Willie  on  the  floor, 

In  merry  sport  with  me. 

We  need  not  fear  the  driving  snow, 

Nor  tempests  angry  din  ; 
Though  loud  abroad  the  winds  may  blow, 

Our  fires  are  bright  within. 

The  cricket,  from  the  creviced  hearth, 

Sends  forth  his  lively  strain; 
The  kitten's  gambols  swell  our  mirth, 

The  dog  barks  loud  again. 

Your  little  arms  ye  toss  on  high, 

And  clear  your  voices  ring; 
Not  lighter  bounds  the  wild  deer  by, 

Or  snow  bird  on  the  winsr. 

O 

And  see  !  where,  wakened  by  the  sound 

From  off  her  mother's  breast, 
Young  Adaline  looks  round, 

As  happy  as  the  rest. 

While  thus  you  frolic  round  the  room, 

You  banish  care  and  pain  ; 
My  mind  has  lost  its  wintry  gloom 

My  thoughts  are  young  again. 

The  frost  of  thirty  winters  seems 

Dissolved  from  off  my  heart ; 
With  youthful  warmth  my  fancy  teems, 

In  childhood's  joys  takes  part. 


88  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

So  be  it,  when  the  snows  of  a^e 

*  O 

Shall  gather  round  my  way  ; 
May  youth,  and  youth's  bright  thoughts  engage 
My  latest,  happiest  day. 

AD  ALIN  E. 


I. 


Her  hand  had  lost  its  pulse's  thrill ; 

Yet  light  was  in  the  living  eye, 
And  round  her  lip  there  lingered  still 

The  smile  of  joyous  infancy. 

I  chafed  in  vain  that  hand,  to  bring 

Its  wonted  glow  to  life  again  ; 
And  wondered  that  no  warmth  should  spring, 

Nor  she  of  suffering  more  complain  ! 

And  long  I  strove,  till  on  my  mind 

The  truth  struck  home,  that  death  was  there 
That  bitter  truth  too  soon  I  find, 

And  feel,  too  sure,  thy  pangs,  Despair  ! 

How  can  I  part  from  one  so  dear, 

So  lively,  sportive,  tender,  true  ; 
Whose  life  was  still  a  smile,  a  tear, 

A  sun-beam,  seen  through  falling  dew. 

Was  never  harp  to  minstrel's  thought 

Responded  with  a  readier  strain, 
Than  she,  with  strong  emotion  fraught, 

To  touch  of  joy,  of  grief,  or  pain. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  89 

Life  breathed  through  all  that  lovely  form, 

The  pure  transparence  of  her  skin, 
Through  cheek  and  lip,  with  feeling  warm, 

And  eye,  that  might  a  seraph  win. 

So  brilliant,  soft,  with  winning  grace, 
Those  dewy  eyes'  dark  lustre  shone, 

That  thought  and  feeling,  in  that  face, 
Seemed  seated  there,  as  on  a  throne. 

E'en  death  is  lovely,  when  he  lays 

Gently  his  hand  on  form  like  this  j^ 
And  fond  beholders,  as  they  gaze, 

Can  scarce  forbear  the  tender  kiss. 

'Twould  do  such  beauty  wrong  to  deem, 
At  sight  so  fair,  that  eyes  could  weep ; 

E'en  now,  she  smiles,  as  in  a  dream, 
And  seems,  almost,  to  wake  from  sleep. 

But  ah  !  though  fair  and  lovely  still, 
No  life  blood  moves  those  pulses  now  ; 

That  lifted  hand  falls  powerless,  chill, 
And  marble  cold  that  tranquil  brow. 

When  life  was  hers,  a  frown  or  check 
Would  fling  her  at  my  feet  in  tears ; 

A  smile  restore  her  to  my  neck, 
To  bury  in  this  breast  her  fears. 

Her  little  arms  around  me  thrown, 

Her  winning  ways  would  quick  restore 


90  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

The  smile,  that,  if  a  moment  flown, 

Seemed  death  to  her,  till  seen  once  more. 

How  altered  now  —  oh  !  bear  her  hence  ; 

'Twere  madness  longer  to  explore 
That  placid  look,  that  seems  like  sense, 

Yet  answers  now  to  mine  no  more. 

I  know  not  if  the  change  I  weep, 

Such  selfish  grief  should  wake  in  me, 

While  infant  beauty  sinks  to  sleep 
Thus  calmly  on  the  mother's  knee. 

She,  not  by  seraph's  flaming  brand, 
Like  Eve,  from  Eden  sternly  driven, 

Has  passed,  as  to  her  native  land, 

Called  home,  from  paradise  to  heaven. 

To  us,  as  her,  that  change  may  prove 
Release  from  bonds  of  earthly  care ; 

A  chain  from  heaven,  let  down  in  love, 
To  fix  our  weaned  affections  there. 


II. 


Thy  spirit  fled,  my  child !  ere  yet  one  stain 
Of  earth's  corruption  had  defiled  the  heart : 
Thy  young  existence  n'er  had  known  the  smart 
Of  evil,  done,  or  purposed  ;  n'er  the  pain 
Of  unrequited  love  ;  nor  cold  disdain  ; 
Nor  base  ingratitude's  soul-piercing  dart. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  91 

Envy  and  malice,  and  the  teeming  nest 

Of  scorpion  passions,  that  transfix  the  breast 

In  later  life,  to  thee  were  all  unknown, 
And  n'er  can  reach  thee  now.     The  tears  we  shed, 
In  lonely  sorrow  o'er  thy  lowly  bed, 

Fall  not  for  thee,  but  for  ourselves  alone. 
Thou,  at  thine  audit,  hast  not  to  relate 
One  sin,  or  sorrow,  of  thine  earthly  state. 


III. 


Cut  wilt  thou  find,  my  child  !  in  realms  of  bliss, 

A  father's  love,  a  mother's  tender  care  ; 

Kindred  in  worlds  above,  to  greet  thee  there, 
And  fill  for  thee  the  place  we  filled  in  this  ? 
Yes,  sure  'tis  so  ;  nor  can'st  thou,  daughter  !  miss 

Our  weak  imperfect  tendance  :  bright  bands  wait 
Of  happy  spirits  thy  young  steps  to  guide 

Mid  groves  of  peace,  where  all  the  good  and  great 
In  full  fruition  of  pure  joy  abide  : 

And  He,  who  here  did  little  children  take, 
And  bless  them  in  his  arms,  benignly  now 
His  kiss  of  love  shall  print  on  thy  pure  brow; 
From  truth's  deep  fount  they  thirst  for  knowledge  slake, 
Nor  e'er  the  nursling  of  his  care  forsake. 


MUTUAL    LOVE. 

To  love  and  be  beloved  —  what  heart  so  cold 

But  feels,  in  joyous  youth,  through  pulse  and  brain, 
Tumultuous  poured,  till  joy  turns  nigh  to  pain, 

Love's  bounding  currents  through  life's  channels  rolled  ! 
Where  mutual  love,  in  fond  endearment,  dwells, 

Bright  eyes  will  sparkle,  and  the  changeful  cheek 

And  quick  pulse  throbbing,  inward  warmth  bespeak  : 
But  vain  each  outward  sign,  that  feebly  tells 
Of  love's  pure  glow,  in  faithful  breasts  that  swells, 

While  words  to  tender  thoughts  give  utterance  weak. 
Years  wane  apace,  and  outward  forms  wax  old  ; 

But  love,  unsoiled  by  time  with  earthly  stain, 

Keeps  young  the  hearts  that  feel  his  silken  chain, 
In  gentle  bonds,  their  trustful  bosoms  hold. 


A  N  NI  V  E  R  S  A  R  Y   O  F    THE 
WEDDING. 

We  will  not  count,  —  so  fast  they  run,  — 
The  years,  my  love  !  since  first  we  met ; 

Since  life  was  new,  and  our  bright  sun 
Was  in  its  hour  of  dawning  yet. 

What  though  that  sun  is  westering  now, 
With  deepening  shadows  backward  cast ; 

Its  cheerful  light  may  yet  allow 

Bright  hours  of  pleasure  ere  'tis  past. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  93 

Time  has  but  ripened  into  grace 

Each  nobler  charm  of  heart  and  mind  ; 

Nor  reft  thee  yet,  in  form  or  face, 

Of  ought  that  soul  to  soul  could  bind. 

Along  these  quiet  walks  with  me 

Thy  light  steps  still  as  airy  bound, 
As  when  in  hours  of  youthful  glee, 

They  leaped,  in  mirth,  to  music's  sound. 

Thy  lively  laugh  as  gaily  rings, 

As  in  those  hours  of  opening  youth  ; 

As  warm  thy  prompt  affection  springs, 
As  in  our  prime  of  joy  and  truth. 

Those  eyes  of  love  are  still  as  bright, 

As  when  at  first  on  me  they  shone ; 
Yet  softened  now  with  milder  light, 

And  deeper  tints  to  youth  unknown. 

If  graver  thought  upon  our  brow 

Is  fixing  here  his  aspect  sage, 
Yet  cheerful  fancies  wreath,  e'en  now, 

With  smiles  of  joy  the  cares  of  age. 

Then  let  them  haste,  the  years  !  away  : 
Our  growing  loves  they  cannot  part ; 

Youth  did  not  lead  our  thoughts  astray, 
Age  will  not  change  the  constant  heart. 

8 


_•• 

it 


OR 


SCEJVES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


BOOK   THIRD. 


POLITICS    AND    PUBLIC    MEN. 


.,**• 


CONTENTS. 

ODE  TO  LIBERTY — The  Empire  of  Mind — Freedom — Law — Self-inter 
est—Equality — The  Popular  Wisdom — Parties — The  Aristocracy — The 
Democracy — The  Commonweal — Education — Bad  Rulers — Sympathy 
with  Popular  Feeling — Ambition — Office — Congress — Slavery — The  pro 
posed  restriction  on  Slavery  in  Missouri — Emancipation — Patriotism — 
The  Great — John  Marshall — William  Lowndes — John  Sergeant — John 
Randolph — John  Quincy  Adams — Andrew  Jackson — Henry  Clay — Dan 
iel  Webster — The  Potomac — Farewell  to  Washington — Conclusion. 


S2 


OR 

SCENES   FROIfl  THE   PAST. 

BOOK   THIRD. 
POLITICS    AND    PUBLIC    MEN. 


ODE    TO    LIBERTY. 

PURE,  ardent,  strong,  my  first  young  love, 

Fair  Freedom  !  was  for  thee  ; 
For  thee,  all  other  powers  above, 

Thou  fire-eyed  Liberty  ! 

Bright  Goddess  of  the  Grecian  isles, 

And  of  the  mainland  shore, 
Where  still,  as  erst,  thy  beauty  smiles, 

Thy  genius  wakes  once  more. 

i'>       i  '»  -    ••  ,  .  ; 

Thence  wandering  to  th'  Ausorian  plain, 

Beneath  unclouded  skies, 
Thy  bright  abode  did  long  remain, 

Where  Rome's  proud  turrets  rise. 
8* 


98  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

But  when,  at  length,  fair  virtue  fled 
From  Rome,  degenerate  then, 

Thine  arm  the  shaft  of  vengeance  sped, 
With  Tell,  in  Uri's  glen. 

When  tyrant  power,  with  bigot  zeal, 
The  Belgian  rights  assailed, 

Then  flashed  aloft  thy  dauntless  steel, 
And  fierce  invaders  quailed. 

To  Albion's  chosen  isle,  at  last, 
Thy  burning  footsteps  roam  : 

Exulting,  mid  thy  triumphs  past, 
In  nobler  yet  to  come. 

And  warm  the  welcome  there  received, 
From  sage  and  warrior  bold  : 

Thy  power  restored,  thy  rights  retrieved, 
As  in  thy  seats  of  old. 

But  foes  abound  ;  and  lo!  the  Maid 
Hath  left  that  cultured  land, 

To  wander,  mid  the  desert  glade, 
Our  bleak  New-England  strand. 

Her  bright  glance  turns  the  forest  wide 
To  fields  of  rich  increase  ; 

And  backward  rolls  the  sanguine  tide 
When  tyrants  mar  our  peace. 

Rich  plenty  crowns  our  happy  vales 
Wher'er  her  bounty  flows  ; 

The  thunder  of  her  deck  assails 
Our  proud  insulting  foes. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  99 

By  labour  nerved,  by  skill  refined, 

In  arts  alike  and  arms, 
She  fires  the  heart,  informs  the  mind, 

And  awes,  at  once,  and  charms. 

And  long  as  on  our  thousand  hills 

Her  hardy  sons  abide  ; 
While  manly  thought  each  bosom  fills 

With  virtue's  generous  pride  ; 

While  scorn  of  life  in  servile  chains 

Inflames  each  patriot  breast, 
Freedom  shall  rule  along  our  plains, 

And  we  in  safety  rest. 

Though  oft  she  strays,  where  erst  she  spilt, 

In  other  lands,  her  blood, 
Her  lasting  home  she  here  hath  built, 

With  us,  on  field  and  flood. 

Her  throne  is  in  the  virtuous  heart, 

Tis  there  her  altars  burn  ; 
When  these  are  quenched,  her  fires  depart, 

No,  never  to  return. 

f'-  '••'''•        f  V  * 

Then  n'er  may  sordid  passions  soil 

Her  purity  of  soul ; 
Or  drag  her  down,  in  senseless  broil, 

To  faction's  base  control. 

Yet  vain  the  fear  :  she  stoops  not  so, 
To  herd  with  servile  men  ; 


100  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Unworthy  when  her  votaries  grow, 
She  turns,  and  leaves  them  then. 

And,  in  her  stead,  a  fiend  of  hell, 

With  giant  stride  comes  on  : 
'Tis  tyrant  Power,  with  slaves  to  dwell, 

When  Freedom's  light  is  gone. 

THE    EMPIRE    OF   MIND. 
I. 

That  is  not  empire  which  compulsion  wrings 

From  crouchant  fear  :  true  empire  builds  its  throne 
In  minds  of  men  ;  and  rests  its  power  alone 

On  truth,  on  virtue,  and  the  force  of  things. 

This  is  that  rightful  power,  which  with  it  brings 
All  else,  subjected  to  his  ruling  mind, 

Who,  master  of  himself,  can  touch  the  springs 
Of  thought  and  action,  that  control  mankind. 

Force  rends  the  body,  and,  in  tempers  base, 

May  win  submission  from  fear's  servile  race  ; 
But  free  born  spirit,  prcud  and  unconfined, 

Repels  compulsion  as  unmixed  disgrace  ; 

Nor  other  power  endures,  than  that  inwrought 

By  mind  on  mind,  the  power  of  thought  o'er  thought. 

II. 

Not  in  high  station  doth  true  power  reside : 
The  private  citizen,  with  tongue  and  pen, 
Sways  oft  the  general  will,  and  governs  men, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  101 

Wider  and  surer,  than  yon  son  of  pride, 

Who  wraps  himself  in  office,  but  aside 
Of  that  is  powerless.     Office  cannot  give, 
Nor  want  of  it  destroy,  deep  thoughts  that  live 

In  minds  of  studious  men,  and,  scattered  wide, 
Direct  the  nations.     Pomp  of  place  may  come, 
And  office  lure  them  from  their  cherished  home, 

But  these  are  not  their  glory  :  these  impart 

Small  power  to  genius,  who  maintains  his  sway, 

Unofficed,  unendowed,  o'er  head  and  heart; 

While  states  submit,  and  chiefs  and  kings  obey. 


III. 


And  hence  by  tongue  and  pen,  far  more  than  sword, 
The  world  is  governed.     Luther  from  his  cell, 
Ruled  e'en  o'er  kings,  in  regal  pomp  who  dwell 

Of  outward  power.      He  spake,  and  men  adored 
The  guide  within,  till  blind  prescription  fell. 

Brief  space  did  Tully  fill  the  Consul's  chair, 

From  Rome  expelled,  recalled  to  perish  there  : 
Yet  o'er  men's  minds  his  wisdom  governs  still 

With  power  unbroken  ;  lands  remote  prepare 
E'en  yet,  his  high  conceptions  to  fulfil. 

'Twas  not  by  office  Bacon's  genius  wrought 

Conquest  o'er  mind,  through  all  the  realms  of  thought. 
These  are  true  kings,  who  rule  by  right  divine, 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  suns  that  ever  shine. 


102  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


FREEDOM. 

I. 

'Tis  faith  in  human  virtue  that  alone 

Makes  Freedom  possible  :  were  man  a  brute, 
A  demon  rather,  chains  would  better  suit 

His  nature,  spies,  inquisitors,  a  throne, 

Where  king  and  priest,  upheld  by  power  alone, 

Might  curb,  guide,  plunder,  at  their  sovereign  will. 

Not  so,  if  reason,  duty,  honor,  truth, 

Be  native  to  the  race;  if  knowledge,  skill, 

If  power  from  practice  spring  ;  if  age  and  youth 
Give  heed  to  virtue,  freedom  then  is  right ; 

A  nation's  birth-right,  where  the  people's  sway 
Rests  not  on  charters,  won,  by  rebel  might, 
From  tyrant  kings,  but  registered  in  light, 

His  gift,  whose  spirit  animates  our  clay. 


II. 


Freedom  is  self-control.     He  is  not  free 

Who  looks  abroad  for  guidance  ;  or  who  finds 

In  party,  creed,  or  sect,  in  kings  decree, 

Or  mobs  acclaim,  the  rule  of  right  that  binds 

His  thoughts  and  feelings.     Freedom  dwells  in  minds 

To  virtue  disciplined  ;  where  sense  of  right, 
Our  own,  and  not  another's,  is  our  guide ; 

Where  self-respect,  and  scorn  of  wrong  unite, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  103 

And  truth  and  justice  in  our  hearts  preside. 
To  freedom,  thus  inbred,  if  law  accord 

Freedom  of  action,  we  are  free  indeed  : 

But  wrong,  is  tyranny,  —  by  one  decreed 
Or  many,  —  wrong,  not  less  to  be  abhorred, 

Though  thousands  gain,  if  one  unjustly  bleed. 


III. 


Freedom  is  based  on  Virtue  :  other  rock 

Is  none,  nor  can  be,  whereupon  to  lay 
Its  broad  foundations.     This,  nor  sudden  shock 

Of  adverse  fortune  rends,  nor  time's  decay 
Moulders  to  dust :  its  adamant  can  mock 

The  rage  of  hostile  hands,  nor  wears  away 
With  lapse  of  years.  The  vicious  cannot  be, 
The  base,  the  selfish,  nor  the  coward  free. 

That  proud  distinction  to  the  good  pertains, 
The  brave,  the  temperate.     High  born  Liberty 

Is  virtue's  recompense,  and  won  with  pains  : 
Not  partial  power,  but  freedom  for  the  whole, 
Freedom  for  right,  not  license  from  control, 

Since  all  must  lose,  where  one  unjustly  gains. 


IV. 


Slaves  are  not  men  ;  the  outward  form  and  span, 
The  garb  and  semblance  of  high  worth  remain 
Oft  in  the  servile  ;  but  we  look  in  vain, 

Where  freedom  is  not,  for  the  soul  of  man. 


104  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

That  pure  far-darting  ray  of  heavenly  light, 
The  deathless  vigour  of  the  God  within, 
Alone  is  man  ;  alone  the  prize  can  win 
Of  arduous  virtue,  claiming,  in  the  sight 
Of  highest  power,  equality  of  right. 
Then  who  would  be  a  slave  ?  or,  being  free, 
Enforce  on  others  bondage  1  free  in  mind, 
In  word,  thought,  action,  free  and  unconfined ; 
Save  where  the  law,  with  merciful  decree, 
Sets  needful  bounds  to  virtuous  liberty. 


LAW. 


E'en  freedom  needs  control,  when  wanton  will 

Runs  wild  with  too  much  licence.     Laws  are  made 
To  guide  the  wayward,  and  reform  the  ill, 

By  mild  yet  firm  restraints,  impartial  laid 
On  all  alike ;  for  oft  the  virtuous  need, 

Not  less  than  vicious,  the  restraining  aid 
Of  equal  laws.     If  interest  these  mislead, 

Passion,  as  oft,  and  erring  zeal  withdraw 
The  weak,  well  meaning,  from  the-  narrow  path 

Of  right  and  equity  ;  till,  struck  with  awe, 

They  back  recoil,  least  Justice,  armed  with  law, 
Pour  on  their  heads  the  vials  of  her  wrath  : 

Justice,  impartial,  stern,  yet  gentle  too, 

Intent  alike  to  save,  as  to  subdue. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  105 


SELF    INTEREST. 

Man,  driven  to  virtue  in  his  own  defence, 
Is  just  to  others,  oft,  that  he  may  find 
Like  justice  in  return.     'Tis  thus  combined 
Interest  and  right  with  duty  blend ;  and  hence, 
Though  freedom  rest  on  virtue,  she  can  fence 

Her  rights  with  interests  round ;  and  aptly  joined 
In  her  just  cause,  make  e'en  the  vices  serve 
Her  generous  purpose  :  these  from  right  will  swerve, 

As  interest  sways ;  but  each,  what'er  his  mood, 
Looks  sharply  to  his  neighbour's  devious  aim  ; 
And  each,  in  turn,  will  strictest  justice  claim, 

Hovv'er  himself  perverse.     The  General  Good 
Lives  thus  mid  adverse  wrongs ;  and  virtue  draws 
From  vice,  from  folly,  aid  to  Freedom's  cause. 


EQUALITY. 

I. 

O  !  blest  Equality  !  to  thee  is  due 

What'er  of  wise  or  just,  of  good  or  great, 
Or  prosperous  fortune,  crowns  our  happy  state. 
Not  that  like  power,  or  honors,  thence  ensue, 
Nor  wealth,  to  all  alike  :  to  nature  true, 
Thy  laws,  Equality  !  but  ope  the  gate, 
9 


106  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Where  all  may  enter  :  Sloth  will  lag  behind, 
And  Vice,  degraded,  sink  :  but  heart  and  mind, 

Each  virtue,  and  each  talent,  here  finds  weight, 
Proportioned  to  desert.     Nor  lack  we  here 
High  power  or  place,  to  proud  ambition  dear 

Nobility  of  nature,  reason's  sway, 
Dominion,  yielded  by  consent,  not  fear, 

Where  virtue  rules,  and  willing  hearts  obey. 


II. 


No  false  gradation,  built  on  idle  claim 

Of  blood  rules  here  ;  no  feeble  monarch  sways, 
By  feudal  right,  from  long  forgotten  days, 
Or  old  ancestral  glory.     Lineage,  name, 
High  birth,  avail  not  now ;  but  present  fame, 

And  rank  by  service  won.     Each  here  must  raise, 
Each  for  himself,  — his  palace,  and  his  tower, 
His  own  right  hand  his  architect  of  power. 

And  what  can  reason  more,  or  virtue  seek, 
Than  unpledged  umpire,  unobstructed  course, 
Where  merit,  service,  virtue's  steady  force 

Must  win  the  prize  ;  where  sloth  alone  is  weak, 
And  vice,  if  strong,  must  meet  in  equal  field, 
Truth's  fearless  front,  and  force  to  virtue  yield. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  107 

THE    POPULAR    WISDOM. 
I. 

'.-'*  ."..•''.£ .  •'-•  '"-.- .-•••••'«'••;',   ';-/i,;  ij  «'*:.'     '•  '•  -•••     --;'i'' 
True  wisdom  largely  in  the  mass  is  found: 
The  subtile  instinct  of  self-love  hath  taught 
The  crowd  true  lore,  the  essence  of  deep  thought 
And  needful  knowledge  —  not  from  books  renowned 
By  study  drawn,  but  truths,  that,  scattered  wide 
Thro'  life's  broad  paths,  are  thence  o'erlooked  by  pride. 
Like  heir-looms  of  the  race,  such  truths  descend 
From  sire  to  son,  each  adding,  as  they  pass, 
His  hard-won  wisdom  to  the  growing  mass ; 
Accretion  small,  yet  swelling  without  end. 

Hence  truths  abound,  where  n'er  the  prosperous  trod, 
In  life's  low  vales,  mid  want  and  cares  obscure, 
By  suffering  tried,  by  toil,  by  time,  made  sure, 
Kind  nature's  dictates,  thence  the  voice  of  God., 

II. 

Trust  then  the  multitude  :  at  times,  'twill  err, 

Mistaking  folly's  voice  for  wisdom's  cry  ; 
Blindly  at  times  'twill  bow,  weak  worshipper  ! 

At  falsehood's  shrine,  and  heap  its  altars  high, 
With  incense  due  to  truth.  Yet  shalt  thou  meet 
Wisdom,  in  broad  high-way  and  public  street, 

In  walks  of  daily  life,  far  likelier  seen, 
Than  in  famed  schools,  —  too  oft  the  drowsy  seat 

Of  cloistered  ignorance,  or  error's  screen. 


108  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Prompt,  restless,  shrewd,  the  wisdom  of  the  crowd, 
Inventive,  fearless,  finds  it  way  aright, 
Mid  clash  of  adverse  interests,  by  the  light 

Struck  from  conflicting  passions.     Forward,  loud, 
Her  step  is  firm,  her  glance  pervading,  bright. 


III. 


Fastidious  taste,  or  timid  virtue  shrinks, 

Disgusted  or  alarmed,  from  noise  and  broil, 
And  clamour  of  debate  :  yet  mid  the  toil 

Of  agitated  mind,  that  swells  and  sinks, 
Alternate  rising  and  depressed,  their  flows 
A  stream,  beneath,  of  strong  sound  sense,  that  goes 

Right  onward  ever.     Folly's  veering  gale 
May  vex  the  surface  oft,  with  eddies  strong 
And  counter  currents ;  yet  it  bears  along 

Unchang'd,  nor  destined  of  its  aim  to  fail. 
The  froth  and  feculence,  that  upward  flow 

From  factious  humours,  may,  at  times,  prevail 
To  stain  its  clear  bright  waves ;  yet,  pure  below, 
The  stream  rolls  on,  untroubled,  sure,  though  slow. 


PARTIES. 


Two  parties  ever,  mid  the  free,  are  found  : 
The  one  intent  to  narrow  and  divide 
The  ruler's  power,  as  fearful  to  confide, 

E'en  with  the  best,  a  weapon  that  must  wound 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Far  oftener  than  defend :  with  them  the  use 

Of  power  weighs  less,  than  fear  of  its  abuse. 
Not  so  the  adverse  party  :  their  chief  dread 

Is  anarchy  ;  whence  discord,  outrage,  wrong, 
Strength  in  the  limbs,  and  weakness  in  the  head. 

Wise  men  and  true  to  either  side  belong, 
And  well  for  each,  in  turn,  may  preference  feel ; 

Ready,  when  bands  of  government  wax  strong, 
To  check  abuse ;  yet  bent,  with  equal  zeal, 
To  strengthen  power,  when  faction  clogs  the  wheel. 


THE    ARISTOCRACY. 


I. 


There  are  who  prize  not  freedom  :  so  they  live 

Tranquil  and  undisturbed,  they  are  content 
With  gentle  masters,  glad,  nay,  proud  to  give 

The  vaunted  glories  of  self-government, 

For  ease  and  safety.     Deeming  rulers  meant 
To  save  the  people  from  their  own  worst  foes, 

Themselves,  they  would  not,  if  they  could,  be  free. 
Freedom  to  them  seems  dangerous  :  broils  and  blows 

Their  daily  fear,  turmoil  and  wild  affray, 
They  shrink  at  thought  of  boisterous  liberty. 

Born  to  submit,  and  eager  to  obey, 
They  ask  but  prudence  to  direct  their  course, 
In  meek  submission  to  superior  force  : 

Others  may  rule,  it  fits  not  such  as  they  ! 
9* 


110  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


II. 


Of  wealth  and  knowledge  proud,  there  are  who  deem 
The  many  made  for  bondage.     In  base  broil, 
Shall  low  born  ignorance,  presume  to  soil 

Our  robes  of  state  1     Shall  hob-nailed  clowns  esteem 

Their  coarse-haired  gaberdine,  of  unpressed  seam, 
Smooth  as  our  firm  wove  silk  ?     Shall  folly  vie, 
In  power  and  splendour,  with  the  rich  and  high, 

The  wise  and  well  informed  ?     Labour  their  lot, 

And  want  their  heritage,  it  suits  them  not 

To  guide  and  govern  states.     In  vain  they  try 

For  powers  above  their  station  :  if  the  blind 
Lead  still  the  blind ;  or,  wilder  yet  their  aim, 

Would  guide  the  clear  of  sight,  they  needs  must  find 
Death  in  one  ditch,  leader  and  led  the  same. 


III. 


Lawless,  from  love  of  liberty,  our  age 
Runs  headlong  to  excess,  in  blind  pursuit 
Of  fancied  freedom  :  but  forbidden  fruit, 

Though  sweet,  is  deadly  still  :  the  madman's  rage, 
Self-wounding,  or  aggressive,  needs  control, 
Proportioned  to  its  strength.     The  free  of  soul 

Alone  are  free,  the  just,  the  brave,  the  sage  : 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  Ill 

But  force  usurps  command  ;  and  fraud  waylays 
The  weak  confiding,  and  to  ill  betrays.    ' 

The  hand,  the  foot,  and  each  ignobler  part, 
Are  needful  all,   and  all  their  ends  fulfil, 

In  this  our  body  ;  but  the  head  and  heart, 
Those  nobler  faculties,  the  virtuous  will 
And  well-stored  mind,  should  guide  and  govern  still. 


Hence  not  unquestioned  is  the  people's  power  : 
Fearful,  conservative,  the  few  distrust 
The  many  still ;  and  hold  their  claim  unjust 

To  sovereign  sway.     Such  sway  they  deem  the  dower 
Of  knowledge,  virtue,  wealth  :  these  form  the  stay 
Of  states  and  empires ;  not  the  base  array 

Of  low  born  vice ;  nor  e'en  the  well-meant  strain 
Of  honest  ignorance,  and  narrow  thought. 
Such  creed  is  held,  though  seldom  loudly  taught, 

By  many  in  our  land  ;  nor  wholly  vain 

Such  element  they  deem,  weak  though  it  be, 
To  check,  at  times,  too  "  fierce  democratic," — 

Made  fierce,  too  oft,  by  demagogues,  who  fain 

Mislead  the  mass,  their  private  ends  to  gain. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


THE    DEMOCRACY. 


-  • «  .  i  '  * ' 

Man,  e'en  the  wisest,  oft  his  course  pursues, 

Blindly,  where  passion,  not  where  reason  guides. 

What  marvel  then,  if  here,  where  power  resides 
Unbounded  in  the  many,  they  too  choose 
Not  always  wisely  1     Shall  we  thence  refuse 

Reliance  on  that  virtue  which  presides 

Instinctive  in  the  mass,  and  aid  provides, 
Self-taught,  through  suffering,  that  from  wrong  ensues  ? 

Rough-hew  them  as  we  will,  our  noblest  aims 
Are  shaped  to  action,  by  that  guiding  sense, 

That  wisdom  of  the  mass,  which  justly  claims 
True  sovereignty  ;  and  holds  as  vain  pretence, 

The  meaner,  adverse  wisdom,  that  reputes 

The  few  born  rulers,  and  the  many  brutes. 


IT. 


The  people  err,  misled,  and  happly  turn, 
Oft  times  their  fury  on  their  truest  friends, 
Deceived,  betray'd  :  but  soon  delusion  ends, 
And  truth  shines  forth.    Fraud's  meteor  lights  may  burn 
In  falsehood's  darkened  sky,  but  day's  return 
Brings  surer  guidance.     Led  with  ease  astray, 
The  mass  see  dimly,  and  but  feel  their  way  ; 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  113 

Yet  is  their  progress  sure  :  the  Public  Good, 
Their  own  true  interests,  needs  must  be  pursued, 

Their  one  great  aim,  their  purpose  ever  nigh. 
Where  honest  hearts,  and  countless  hands  combine, 
And  native  shrewdness  guides  the  just  design, 

Well  may  they  rear  the  glorious  fubrick  high 

Of  public  good,  on  general  liberty. 


III. 


Nor  deem  it  strange,  if  still  the  many  doubt 
The  kindness  of  the  few  :  if  envy  seize 
The  needy,  as  he  views  the  rich  at  ease, 

Himself  to  toil  condemned.     He  looks  about, 
Where  plenty  crowns  the  prosperous,  and  he  sees 
Superfluous  wealth,  that  might  his  wants  appease, 

His  craving  wants,  consumed  in  idle  rout  , 
And  wild  extravagance.  He  little  knows 
The  ills  of  wealth,  —  the  langour  of  repose,  — 

And  deems  the  idle  happy !     Wealth,  in  turn, 
Envies  the  careless  look,  and  laughter  loud 

Of  honest  labour,  —  failing  to  discern 

The  counterpoise  of  want.     He  thinks  the  crowd 
Malign,  unjust;  they  him  unfeeling,  proud. 


114  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

';JM»     &**^-;toK*a^.y*#K-  '..* 
THE    COMMONWEAL. 
*•<  '      .,H- 

Yet  are  their  rights  the  same  ;  in  reason's  eye, 

The  same  their  interests.     None  is  here  so  low, 
But  wealth  may  be  his  lot ;  none  placed  so  high, 

But  want  nviy  reach  him  yet.     Wealth's  overthrow 
Is  fortune's  daily  freak  ;  the  poor  have  won 

Their  millions  too  :  the  vagrant  that  would  fire 
The  rich  man's  villa,  thinks  not  that  his  son 

May  heir  the  heritage  :  yon  boastful  sire, 
Whose  stores  seem  boundless  now,  may  children  leave 
To  eat  the  parish  bread.     Could  you  bereave 

The  poor  man  of  his  rights,  though  his  the  wrong, 
Tis  your's  tomorrow.     In  fair  reason's  sight, 

Life,  freedom,  happiness  to  all  belong, 
And  mutual  kindness,  based  on  mutual  right. 


EDUCATION. 


Not  to  degrade,  but  elevate  the  mass, 

Be  then  thy  generous  aim  ;  to  pour  the  light 
Of  far-pervading  truth,  unclouded,  bright, 

O'er  high  and  low  alike  ;  till  knowledge  pass 
With  freedom  hand  in  hand  :  till  public  right, 
With  virtue  armed,  control  the  erring  might 

Of  vicious  ignorance  and  brutal  force. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  115 

If  wisdom  guide  the  bark,  and  trim  the  sail, 
The  waves  of  vice  and  folly,  on  her  course 
Though  wild,  at  times,  they  beat,  resounding  hoarse, 

Can  harm  her  never  :  time,  with  steady  gale, 
Bears  her,  uninjured,  on  her  destined  way  ; 
Or,  tempest  tost,  she  anchors  in  the  bay, 

From  danger  free,  while  storms  abroad  prevail. 


BAD    RULERS. 

I. 

•\ 

Weak  are  our  rulers  ?     Tis  a  proof  that  we, 
E'en  we,  the  people,  are  ourselves  as  weak  ; 
As  blind,  as  vicious,  and  as  prone  to  seek 

Unworthy  ends,  as  these  our  guides  can  be. 

They  are  our  creatures  merely ;  we  are  free 

To  choose  whom  best  we  like.     If  then  the  stream 
Run  charged  with  feculence,  we  well  may  deem 

The  spring  impure ;  nor  can  its  waters  mount 
Above  their  source;  if  low,  its  currents  creep 
Through  vales  obscure,  in  stagnant  pools  to  sleep. 

Then  blame  not  rulers  chiefly,  nor  account 

The  land  worse  governed  than  its  sons  deserve  : 
Rulers  are  samples  of  the  men  they  serve, 

Nor  worse,  nor  better,  —  pebbles  from  one  heap. 


1  16  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


ii. 


Better  or  worse,  the  children  semblance  bear 
Still  to  the  parent  stock  ;  the  form  is  known 
Of  tree  or  building  by  the  shadow  thrown  : 

So  must  our  rulers  still  the  image  wear 
We  give  them,  shadows  of  ourselves  alone. 

The  forms  of  government  but  serve,  at  best, 
To  mould  the  metal  while  its  currents  flow, 

Not  change  its  nature  ;  be  that  metal  prest 
To  forms  of  beauty,  or  to  shapes  of  dread, 
Its  essence  is  unchanged,  gold,  silver,  lead, 

What'er  the  substance.     If  our  aims  are  low, 
Worthless  our  thoughts,  by  vice  on  folly  bred, 

What  wonder  that  our  chosen  favourites  show, 

In  bitter  fruits,  the  germs  from  whence  they  grow. 


SYMPATHY    WITH    POPULAR 
FEELING. 

I. 

The  guide,  that  leads  me,  must  not  quit  my  side, 
E'en  when  I  wander  from  the  path  astray  ; 

Nor  wound,  with  wanton  sneer,  my  honest  pride, 
Though  slow  of  pace,  and  stumbling  on  my  way  ! 

If  larger  light  be  his,  to  me  denied, 

It  ill  beseems  his  office,  to  deride 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  117 

tf 

My  feebler  beam,  or  vaunt  his  prouder  ray. 

Nor  less  should  he,  who  aims  the  crowd  to  sway, 
Discard  vain  visions  of  superior  skill, 

That  nourish  in  his  heart  the  fond  conceit 
That  others  are  but  clay,  which  he,  at  will, 

May  mould  and  fashion,  as  to  him  seems  meet. 
Tis  sympathy  alone,  warm,  generous,  true, 
That  moulds  the  mass,  and  guides  its  movements  too. 


II. 


'Tis  fellow  feeling  that  to  hearts  of  men 

Must  win  our  way  :  and  he  who,  from  above, 

Looks  down,  in  lordly  pride,  and  harbours  then 
Contempt  for  others,  will,  in  others,  move 
Small  feelings  of  respect,  and  less  of  love. 

And  hence  have  wise  and  great,  e'en  good  men  oft, 
Failed  favour  to  secure,  —  their  purpose  crost 

By  coldness,  or  disdain,  that  holds  aloft 

From  mingling  with  the  mass ;  and  thence  have  lost, 

What  else  their  worth  had  won,  the  love  of  those 

Who  saw  in  friends,  so  ruled,  the  people's  foes. 
Doubt  wakens  doubt ;  and  confidence  finds  place, 
Seldom,  where  feelings  of  distrust  we  trace, 

Never,  where  scorn  and  hate  their  forms  disclose. 
10 


118  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


III. 

*^«J*fel 

Who  seeks  the  people's  love,  himself  should  feel 
Love  for  the  people  too  :  he  toils  in  vain 
Their  favour  to  secure,  whom  proud  disdain 

Bars  from  their  fellowship.     Their  hearts  to  steal, 
And  win  the  million,  needs  nor  subtile  art, 
Nor  rare  endowments  :  virtues  of  the  heart, 

Far  more  than  intellect,  their  favour  find ; 

And  he  who  doubts  their  virtue  wants  that  hold 

On  general  love,  which  sympathy  of  mind 
Gives  ever  to  the  generous  and  the  bold. 
Though  wild  of  will,  the  mass  are  yet  controlled 

Easy  by  manly  hearts ;  but  shrink,  alarmed, 
Or  turn,  disgusted,  from  the  proud  and  cold, 

How'er  with  learning  graced,  or  genius  armed. 


AMBITION. 

#•  '     w^fo   '- '.»• ';'    '•'  ;' .'     '      ;;"><-'(/i  V     -tV)? 

How  vain  the  boast  that  nought  could  win 
My  footsteps  back  to  earth  again  ! 

Unmindful  of  the  power  within, 

That,  gently  binding  heart  and  brain, 
Still  holds  us  busy  in  the  train 

Of  fond  aspirants,  mid  the  crowd, 

Who  onward  press  with  clamour  loud. 

Well,  be  it  so,  since  so  it  must; 
I  would  not,  mid  inglorious  ease, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  119 

Sink,  unremembered,  to  the  dust, 

Nor  shun  the  prize  that  all  would  seize : 
Once  more,  then,  let  me  strive,  like  thepe, 

Though  vain  our  toil,  our  wishes  vain, 

High  power  to  win,  or  honor  gain. 

Yet  wherefore  vain  1     The  prize  aloft 

•  ' ' 
Hangs  tempting  in  the  public  view ; 

Thrown  wide  to  all,  and  won,  full  oft, 

By  daring  vigour  ;  while  the  crew 

Of  idle  loiterers  still  renew 
Their  vain  resolves,  and  still  delay 
The  toil,  that  bears  that  prize  away. 

What  crowds  are  gathered  round  the  place, 
Where  start  Ambition's  coursers  !    High 

Their  heads  they  toss,  and,  in  the  race, 
Their  hoofs  of  thunder,  flashing  eye, 
And  panting  sides,  make  quick  reply, 

To  rival  shouts,  that  loud  proclaim 

'im         '  *    '  *    * 

Each  victor  in  the  lists  of  fame. 

Then  mount,  betimes,  and  spur  thy  steed ! 

What'er  the  aim,  wealth,  honor,  power, 
'Tis  all  before  thee  ;  quick,  proceed, 

Nor  doubt  success  ;  fair  fortune's  dower, 

Enjoyment,  crowns  each  prosperous  hour 
Of  young  Ambition  :  on,  and  win 
Thy  laurels,  mid  the  cheerful  din 

Of  healthful  action  ;  nor  complain 

That  toil  awaits  the  victor's  gain. 


120  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

'*&•   ..    •        .  v 

'          '•--&jj*^i  *****      *^^ 

OFFICE. 
I. 

Ambition  still  aspires  to  power  and  place, 

Nor  deems  them  dearly  won  by  toil  and  strife  ; 

E'en  danger  wakens  but  intenser  life 
In  daring  spirits  :  honor  or  disgrace 
The  prize  or  punishment,  'twere  weak  as  base, 

To  shroud  bold  manhood's  prime  in  slothful  rest. 
Strike  then  for  power,  if  not  for  power  supreme, 
Since  few  can  grasp  that  shadow  of  a  dream, 

Yet  power  to  make,  at  times,  thy  high  behest 
A  law  to  other  minds  ;  or,  nobler  aim, 
Power  to  do  good,  true  virtue's  generous  claim, 

To  speak,  toil,  suffer,  for  the  public  weal. 

If  such  thy  purpose,  backed  by  steady  zeal, 
Duty  thy  guide,  thy  recompense  is  fame. 


II. 


Ambition  fired  my  youth,  that  early  felt 

Her  subtile  flame :  early  my  heart  had  known 
Those  bright  illusive  hopes,  that  build  their  throne 
In  youth's  fond  dreams.     Ere  yet  such  visions  melt 
In  reason's  sober  ray,  who  has  not  knelt, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  121 

In  earnest  worship,  to  the  phantoms  shown, 
In  fancy's  mirror,  round  the  dazzling  zone 
Of  power  and  place  1     Yet  soon  the  icy  belt 

Arid  chilling  clime,  which  gird  those  heights  around, 
Struck  coldness  on  my  heart :  the  sullen  sound 
Of  gathering  tempests,  and  the  bolts  they  fly, 
Incessant  flashing  through  that  stormy  sky, 

Repelled  advance  :  and  soon  I  learned  to  know 
True  quiet  dwells  but  in  the  vale  below. 


CONGRESS 


I. 


Yet  loved  I  well,  at  times,  to  hear  the  roar  .•..•.!«. 
Of  congregated  factions  ;  to  survey, 
Cool  and  unmoved  myself,  the  dense  array 

Of  adverse  parties,  and  their  aims  explore  : 

Best  seen,  when  warm  excited  minds  run  o'er 
With  earnest  feelings,  forcing  free  their  way. 

Prudence  not  always  can  the  mind  content 
E'en  of  the  sage  and  cautious  :  sudden  zeal, 
Like  sparks  emitted  from  the  smitten  steel, 

Fires  oft  the  coldest :  glowing  thoughts  find  vent 

In  word,  look,  gesture  —  thoughts  that,  warmly  sent 
From  bounding  bosoms,  panting  in  the  reel 
Of  adverse  passions,  needs  must  truths  reveal, 

Else  hid,  by  cunning  sly  on  caution  bent. 
10* 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


II. 


'Tis  then  that  forceful  genius,  prompt  to  soar, 
Asserts,  o'er  common  minds,  predominence ; 
Felt,  through  all  hearts,  in  strains  of  eloquence, 

That  long  survive,  when  life's  brief  space  is  o'er. 

Those  early  orators,  so  famed  of  yore, 

The  Greek  and  Roman,  won  not,  in  their  day, 
More  warm  applause  than  Randolph,  Webster,  Clay, 

Or  King,  and  Pinkney,  on  this  western  shore. 
With  aims  as  various  as  their  powers  unlike, 
Each  yet  had  genius  that  could  charm  and  strike ; 

Each,  in  his  turn,  could  chain  the  listening  crowd, 
Each,  with  his  own  bright  visions  dazzle  still 
The  vulgar  gaze,  and  sway  the  mass  at  will, 

That  moved  obedient,  in  subjection  proud. 


SLAVERY. 
I. 

The  claim  of  man  to  seize  his  fellow  man, 
And  hold  him  as  a  slave,  —  what  can  it  be 
But  rank  injustice,  bare-faced  tyranny, 
And  lawless  violence?  the  selfish  plan 
Of  power,  divorced  from  right :  which,  if  it  can, 
Force  may  uphold,  but  reason  must  refute. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  123 

What  though  Necessity,  the  tyrant's  plea, 

Would  shield  the  wrong,  Heaven  hath  no  attribute, 

Which,  in  the  contest,  can  take  part  with  men, 
Who,  free  themselves,  seek  others  to  imbrute. 

They  needs  must  fail  :  for  though,  to  human  ken, 
The  way  seems  dark,  while  sullen  power  is  mute 

To  pity's  cry,  Heaven,  in  its  chosen  hour, 

Oh  !  doubt  not  that  !  will  break  oppression's  power. 


II. 


Brute  though  he  be,  by  thy  injustice  made, 
He  is  thy  brother,  man  !     There  burns  in  him 
The  fire  of  human  feeling,  faint  and  dim, 

Yet  quenched  not  wholly  there  :  thou  hast  o'erlaid 
His  nobler  powers ;  thy  stern  control  hath  broke 
His  prostrate  spirit,  humbled  to  thy  yoke  : 

Yet  is  he  man ;  down  trodden  and  betrayed, 

His  rescue  yet  is  sure,  though  none  should  aid. 
Not  with  her  victim  dwells  injustice  long, 

But  back  returns,  retributive,  to  shed 

Vials  of  wrath  and  suffering  on  thy  head. 

Thy  slave  is  weak  ;  and,  master  !  thou  art  strong,; 

Yet  dwell  ye  still  in  mutual  hate  and  dread, 

Fraud  foiling  force,  and  wrong  repaid  by  wrong. 


124  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

' 


III. 


Yet  blame  not  thou,  too  much  the  men  who  wields 
Transmitted  power,  to  whom,  unblest,  descends 

Such  dangerous  heritage.     His  interest  shields 
From  want  the  slave,  and  oft  from  wrong  defends. 

Linked  to  his  lot,  unknowing  other  state, 

The  master's  conscience  feels  not  much  the  wrong 
His  power  inflicts  :  to  us,  though  clear  as  strong, 

It  strikes  on  him  but  faintly  ;  'tis  their  fate  : 

High  heaven's  mysterious  laws,  he  deems,  accord 

Freedom  to  some,  and  bondage  to  the  rest. 

Thou,  happier  placed,  with  truer  knowledge  blest, 
Deal  kindly  with  his  error  ;  and  abate, 

Though  not  thy  generous  scorn  at  deeds  abhorred, 

Somewhat  thine  aner  at  the  slave-cursed  lord. 


THE    PROPOSED  RESTRICTION 

ON    SLAVERY    IN    MISSOURI. 

I  saw  the  gathering,  shared  the  toil,  and  held 
My  place,  though  humble,  in  the  ranks,  that  day, 
When  freedom  marshalled,  in  her  bright  array, 

Her  hosts  for  combat.     Who  that  there,  impelled 
By  generous  hope,  saw  justice  with  the  might 
Of  slavery  grappling,  in  victorious  fight, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  125 

Could  doubt  the  issue?     High  our  bosoms  swelled, 
In  fancied  triumph,  o'er  the  foe,  nigh  quelled 

By  freemen,  battling  for  undoubted  right. 
Though  stern  the  contest,  will  our  phalanx  sped, 
Till  doe-faced  folly  saw  her  form,  and  fled. 

Alas  !  for  freedom  !  when  ignoble  flight 
Of  coward  friends,  more  feared  than  open  foe, 
Brings  servile  rout,  and  shameful  overthrow.     . 


EMANCIPATION. 


I. 


Yet  not  for  that  despond,  or  bow  thy  head, 
Freedom!  in  base  despair  ;  the  day  is  lost, 
Thy  name  traduced,  thy  generous  purpose  crost : 

But  freedom's  fire,  though  smothered,  is  not  dead. 

Deep  interfused,  through  all  the  mass,  is  shed 
That  fire  unquenchable,  pervading  earth, 

And  kindling  into  life,  what  else  would  be 

Inert  as  worthless,  if  untouched  by  thee, 

This  clod  of  human  clay.     E'en  now  the  birth, 

Not  distant,  in  the  womb  of  time,  I  see 
Of  nobler  spirits,  roused  to  higher  life, 
With  zeal  unwearied  in  that  generous  strife, 

Till,  crowned  with  light,  thy  star-gemmed  banner  waves 

Wide  o'er  our  land,  no  more  the  land  of  slaves. 


126  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 


II. 


As  well  might  noon  with  midnight  darkness  join, 
As  right  with  wrong.  Repelling  and  repelled, 
Their  hostile  elements  not  long  are  held 

In  friendly  league.     If  seeming  to  combine, 

'Tis  seeming  only  :  soon  their  powers  are  found, 
In  adverse  ranks  arrayed,  on  hostile  ground. 

How  then  can  Freedom  dwell,  secure  of  right, 

Where  Slavery  builds  stern  power  on  lawless  might  ? 
Proud,  prompt,  o'erbearing,  scorning  check,  or  bound, 

The  Master  spirit  brooks  but  ill  the  tone 
Of  adverse  power  :  as  little,  mid  the  din 

Of  scourge  and  fetter,  and  the  victim's  groan, 
Can  Freedom  rest  content:  she  needs  must  win 

Unquestioned  power,  or  yield  to  Force  alone. 


III. 


But  force,  not  long,  can  freemen  overawe  : 

When  slave-shaped  policy,  and  slave-nursed  power 
Win  full  domain,  the  Free  States,  from  that  hour, 

How'er  reluctant,  from  the  league  withdraw. 

Laws  are  but  means  to  ends  ;   and,  when  these  fail, 

Paper  and  parchment  bind  not  hearts,  or  hands. 

Yet  fear  not  thence  disunion  :  on  the  sands 

Though  Slavery  build  her  house,  and  force  prevail 

To  plant  injustice  there,  till  proud  it  stands, 
High  as  that  visioned  image  of  old  day  ; 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  127 

Yet  mark  th'  event ;  a  power,  as  of  the  stone 

Cut  without  hands,  is  at  the  idol  thrown, 
And  lo  !  it  falls  :  its  iron,  brass,  and  clay, 
Crumble  to  dust,  and  pass  from  earth  away. 


PATRIOTISM. 

For  him  who  loves  his  country,  and  would  fain 
Lay  life  and  fortune  at  her  feet,  content 
For  her  to  spend,  and  in  her  cause  be  spent,' 

How  hard  to  find  his  patriot  labours  vain, 

His  cares  with  scorn  repaid,  or  cold  disdain  : 
Dungeoned,  perchance,  or,  worse,  an  exile  »«nt 
The  tears  to  shed  of  bitter  banishment ; 

While  servile  millions  mock  his  generous  pain, 

Howl  o'er  his  fall,  and  hug  their  tyrant's  chain. 
Yet  who  but  envies  Aristides'  doom, 

Thy  bowl,  O  Socrates  !  or  Tully's  end  ? 

And  who  would  change  the  martyred  Sidney's  tomb 
For  Charles'  mirth,  or  James'  bigot  gloom? 

So  far  can  virtue  lawless  power  transcend  ! 

THE    GREAT. 
I. 

Strong  passions,  under  strong  control,  —  these  make 
The  great  in  action,  —  energies  sublime, 

Impulsive,  fiery,  which  their  course  yet  take 

From  reason's  guidance.     Watching  sure  their  time, 


I::H  SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

The  wise  strike  home,  well  aimed,  their  blows ;  nor  break, 
In  blind  entanglement  of  rash  assault, 

The  force  that,  borne  aright,  unchecked  might  reach 
Its  aim  desired.     Though  passion  fierce  may  vault, 

With  sudden  vigour,    through  the  desperate  breach, 
'Tis  coolness  only,  on  the  doubtful  plain, 
Can  hold  assured,  what  valour  may  attain. 

Reason  is  sluggish;  passion  blind  ;   and  each, 
While  toiling  singly,  oft  essays  in  vain 
To  win  the  prize,  which  both  might  easy  gain. 


II. 

Oh  envy  not  the  Great !     Unknown  to  thee 

What  slippery  paths  they  tread,  how  dark  the  maze 
Through  which  they  wind  ;  what  bitter  agony 
They  feel,  of  hope  deferred  ;  or  worse,  to  see 

The  prize  they  deemed  their  own,  the  power,  the  praise, 
The  cherished  hope  of  long  laborious  days, 
Transferred,  by  one  mischance,  in  evil  hour, 
To  grace  some  hated  rival's  dreaded  power. 

This  could'st  thou  see,  thy  fond  admiring  gaze 
Would  turn  to  pity  ;  oft,  perchance,  allied 
To  generous  scorn,  at  sight  of  towering  pride 

To  meanness  joined  ;  the  baseness  that  attends, 
Too  oft,  on  Power,  cdntented,  so  he  ride 

O'er  prostrate,  foes,  to  trample  on  his  friends. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  129 


III. 


The  Swedish  statesman  bade  his  son  go  see 

With  what  small  wisdom  this  great  world  is  ruled ! 
And  he,  whose  mind,  in  virtue  early  schooled, 

Can  pierce  the  forms,  the  outward  bravery, 
The  tinsel  splendours,  and  the  tricks  of  state, 
Will  pity,  oftener  than  revere,  the  Great. 

Men  are  they,  at  the  best ;  and  seldom  made 
Wiser,  or  better,  by  the  power  they  gain  : 
Shrewd,  deep,  sagacious  ?  ofttimes  shallow,  vain, 

Selfish,  or  false,  betraying,  and  betrayed. 

Yon  mass,  that  seems  a  mountain  from  the  plain, 

Proves,  nearer  viewed,  a  fog-bank  :  by  the  night 

Drawn  upward  from  the  vale,  it  melts,  in  light, 
Back  to  its  native  nothingness  again ! 


IV. 


Distance,  that  lessons  objects  to  the  eye, 

Oft  swells  them  to  the  fancy :  few  men  seem, 
Near  seen,  so  great,  as  in  the  partial  dream 
Of  distant  admiration.     Viewed  too  nigh, 
Their  faults  stand  forth  obtrusive ;  and  men  spy 
Flaws,  and  defects,  and  failings,  which  they  deem 
Monstrous  in  others,  though  their  own  lives  teem, 
11 


130  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Belike,  with  kindred  faults.     The  thought  was  thine, 
Macon  !  that  he  whose  vision  would  retain 
High  views  of  human  greatness,  should  remain 

Still  at  safe  distance,  bowing  at  the  shrine 
Of  power  far  seen  ;  least  nearer  view  of  men, 
Whose  light  shines  dazzling  on  his  distant  ken, 

Should  strip  them  of  the  worth  he  deems  divine. 


V. 


Too  oft  'tis  so  :  too  oft  such  pilgrims  start 

Back  in  despair,  disconsolate  to  find 

The  cherished  image,  which  their  faith  had  shrined 
In  fond  idolatry,  a  thing  of  art, 
The  slave  of  circumstance,  who  acts  a  part, 

And  plays  the  puppet.     Such  men  have  I  seen, 

Held  great,  yet  worthless  found,  and  weak  as  mean. 
Yet  doubt  not  thence  of  power  ;  nor  rashly  close 

Thy  heart  on  human  virtue  :  good,  as  great, 

There  are,  whom  tho'i  may'st  justly  venerate  ; 
True  sons  of  genius,  nor  less  truly  foes 

To  baseness,  seen  in  high  or  low  estate  : 
These  may'st  those  closely  search,  nor  fear  to  view 
Weak  wavering  minds,  nor  sordid  hearts  untrue. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  131 


JOHN    MARSHALL. 


And  this  is  one  of  them  :  go,  hear  his  voice, 
The  still  small  voice  of  truth,  expound, 
In  language  lucid,  as  in  thought  profound, 

The  law's  mysterious  lore  ;  while  States  rejoice 
In  that  controling  wisdom,  and  surround 

Gladly  his  high  tribunal,  to  demand 

Impartial  justice  at  his  equal  hand. 

And  who  that  here  beholds  that  calm  old  man, 

By  pomp  unheralded  of  high  command, 

Would  deem  his  slightest  breath  could  move  the  land, 
And  govern  nations,  more  than  armies  can? 

Fraud  may  evade,  or  force  awhile  withstand, 
But  Justice,  at  his  nod,  lifts  high  her  scale, 
Unawed,  unbribed,  and  right  and  law  prevail. 


II. 


He  much  o'erlooks  in  Marshall,  who  but  knows 

The  grave  Chief  Justice  :  clearer  would'st  thou  scan, 
Stripped  of  his  ermine  robe,  the  inner  man, 

Leave  courts  of  law,  and  follow  where  he  goes, 

Intent  on  leisure,  and  the  mind's  repose. 

There  may'st  thou  see  him,  foremost  in  the  throng, 
Where  pleasure  wakes,  at  eve,  her  rural  song, 


132  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

At  harvest  home,  or  Christmas,  with  his  friends; 

Or,  on  the  green,  at  bowls,  or,  blithe  of  cheer, 

A  keen  quoit  player,  in  his  seventieth  year  ! 
While  thus,  in  healthful  sports,  that  mind  unbends 

Its  giant  grasp,  whose  slightest  glance  can  clear 
Law's  darkest  doubts,  regard  with  reverence  blends  : 

We  love  the  man,  nor  less  the  sage  revere. 


WILLIAM    LOWNDES. 


Amidst  the  herd  of  politicians  loud, 

Whose  turbid  eloquence  is  empty  sound, 
Heartless  as  false,  and  vain,  or  venal  found, 

Well  may  thy  country,  Lowndes !  of  thee  be  proud, 
Whose  virtues  are  thy  talents.     Not  for  fame, 

For  power,  for  partial  purpose,  dost  thou  toil, 
Thy  country's  good  thy  sole  unquestioned  aim  : 

Nor  e'er  did  sordid  thought,  or  factious,  soil 
The  pure  mild  lustre  of  thy  stainless  name. 

Child-like,  in  true  symplicity  of  mind 
And  purity  of  purpose,  thou  do'st  blend 

Caution  with  zeal,  thy  warmth  with  wisdom  joined. 
If  bright  names  somewhat  of  their  brightness  lend, 
Be  this  my  boast,  that  Lowndes  still  calls  me  friend. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  133 


JOHN    SERGEANT. 

Nor  failed  I  to  secure  the  kind  regard 

Of  kindred  merit ;  one,  to  Lowndes  allied 

In  heart  and  feeling  much,  though  sundered  wide 

In  mind  and  manners ;  one,  like  him,  who  shared 
The  general  confidence ;  not  meanly  tied, 
By  base  compliance,  to  the  winning  side, 

But  still  by  virtue  guided  :  mild,  sedate, 

Yet  firm  of  purpose ;  high  his  generous  aim, 
Yet  calm,  unruffled,  urging  reason's  claim, 

With  soft  persuasive  power,  in  words  of  weight : 
Weighty,  yet  n'er  with  turbulence  of  sound, 
Or  frantic  gesture,  hurled  in  wrath  around ; 

But  falling  gently,  like  the  dews  that  sate     [drowned. 
Earth's  thirsty  plants,   not  drenched  nor   tempest 


JOHN    RANDOLPH. 

Who  shall  dissect  thee,  Randolph  !  or  describe, 

Dissected,  thine  unique  anatomy  ? 

In  form  and  garb  grotesque,  in  these  we  see 
Fit  emblems  of  a  mind  as  strange.     The  tribe 

Powhatan,  whence  thy  lineage  came,  contained 

No  truer  Indian  :  feelings,  deep  engrained, 
Unshared  by  others,  yet  intense,  were  thine. 
11* 


134  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

."y    % 

An  Ishmaelite  in  soul,  thy  spirit  spurned 

The  world's  cold  brotherhood  ;  and  yet  there  burned 
The  flame  of  human  love,  on  that  deep  shrine, 

Thy  lonely  heart  :  contemptuous  with  the  vain, 
And  haughty  with  the  proud,  thy  feelings  yearned 
For  sympathy  unfound,  —  till  kindness  turned 

To  gall  of  bitterness,  that  touched  thy  brain. 


II. 


Yet  in  thy  madness  was  there  method  too; 

A  keen  sagacity,  that  won  its  way, 
By  reason  less  than  instinct's  subtile  clue. 

Sportive,  censorious,  grave  alike  or  gay, 
With  aim  unerring,  to  their  quarry  flew 

Thy  polished  shafts,  steel-tempered,  flashing  bright, 

Like  coruscations  of  the  northern  light, 
Cold,  dazzling,  brilliant ;  by  all  eyes  beheld 

At  once  with  mingled  wonder,  doubt,  delight 
At  wit  that  won,  and  harshness  that  repelled. 

Yet  sad,  though  brilliant,  was  thy  lonely  part, 
Chained,  like  Prometheus,  to  the  barren  rock, 
Hand-gived,  and  fetter-limbed,  to  bide  the  shock, 

Despair's  grim  vulture  gnawing  at  thy  heart. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  135 


JOHN    QUINCY    ADAMS. 
I. 

Son  of  that  sire,  whose  fervent  words  gave  life 

To  Independence,  when  a  nation  lay 

In  doubtful  birth  pangs,  struggling  into  day  ; 
Thou,  on  that  sire's  proud  model  formed,  and  rife 

With  patriot  ardour,  foremost  still  art  found, 
Foremost,  and  fearless,  in  the  civic  strife 

For  freedom,  where  her  fiercest  foes  abound  ; 
Careless  of  danger,  so  thy  blows,  well  aimed, 

Strike,  in  the  contest,  daring  error  down  ; 
Till  wrong  exposed,  and  bigot  passion  tamed, 

Yield,  late  but  sure,  the  tribute  of  renown, 
To  fearless  worth,  and  well  trained  talent  due ; 

To  worth,  that  patient  waits,  till  time  shall  crown 
With  lasting  praise,  a  life  to  virtue  true. 


II. 


Long  have  I  marked  thy  course,  and,  many  a  time, 
Held  converse  with  thy  free  unguarded  hours, 
In  days  of  trial,  when  the  mingled  powers 

Of  hope  and  fear,  that  slope  the  way  to  crime, 
Had  weaker  minds  seduced  ;  but  found  thee  bent 

On  generous  deeds,  with  soaring  thoughts  sublime, 
A  statesman  sage,  on  public  cares  intent. 


136  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

Fierce  round  thee  still  the  storm  of  faction  roars, 

Shattering  thy  boughs,  yet  leaving  safe  below 
The  roots  unshaken  ;  while  thy  proud  trunk  soars, 
Rejoicing  in  the  tempest,  that  but  pours, 

Idly  its  senseless  rage,  round  limbs  that  grow, 
Studier,  in  knarled  strength,  for  storms  that  shed 
Vainly  their  fury  on  that  unscathed  head. 


III. 


Thy  large  and  liberal  nature  comprehends 
All  interests,  rights,  and  duties  of  mankind  : 

Cold  in  the  crowd,  convivial  with  thy  friends, 
Gentle  and  placable,  to  mirth  inclined, 

Yet  prompt,  intrepid,  stern,  when  guilt  offends, 
Or  wrong  calls  down  rebuke,  —  thy  genius  blends, 
In  union  rare,  the  rugged  and  refined, 

The  light  and  lofty ;  learning,  fancy,  skill, 

Wisdom  to  guide,  and  courage  to  fulfil ; 
Courage,  not  merely  of  the  camp  and  field, 

But  nobler  far,  the  rarer  courage  shown 

In  halls  of  state,  —  that,  throwing  wide  its  shield 
O'er  truth  assailed,  disdains  to  fly  or  yield  : 

By  hosts  beset,  yet  victor,  though  alone. 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  137 

ANDREW    JACKSON. 
I. 

It  is  not  intellect,  the  reasoning  power, 

That  governs  man  ;  nor  sleight  of  subtile  skill ; 

But  moral  strength,  th'  indomitable  will  ; 
Which,  whether  fortune  smile,  or  danger  lower, 

Is  bent  alike  its  purpose  to  fulfil. 

The  men,  who,  be  their  mission  good  or  ill, 
Have  ruled  mankind,  in  each  decisive  hour, 

Are  those,  Napoleon-like,  who  triumph  still 
By  boldly  daring.     When,  to  cooler  minds, 

The  way  seems  dark,  or  doubtful,  in  the  height 
Of  fixed  resolve,  the  hardy  spirit  finds 

The  strength  it  needs  ;  and  governs  in  the  might, 
(Which  learning  cannot  give,  nor  skill  supply,) 
Of  steadfast  purpose,  bent  to  win,  or  die. 


II. 


With  adamantine  heart,  and  nerves  of  steel, 
That  bow  inferior  natures  to  fulfil 
Thy  high  behests,  mere  vassals  of  thy  will, 

Tis  thine,  undoubting  chief!  through  life  to  feel 

That  warrior  passion,  that  untiring  zeal, 
Which  lives  in  daily  combat.     Not  for  thee 
The  quiet  joys  of  calm  tranquillity 

Have  power  to  charm,  like  scenes  of  contest  high, 


138 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 


With  doubt  and  danger  mixed.     Yet  not  with  gall 
That  heart  is  charged  ;  nor  burns  in  vain  that  eye, 
Which  flashed,  with  stern  delight,  at  danger  nigh. 
Thy  warlike  virtue  could,  at  freedom's  call, 
Fling  wide  thy  banner,  on  the  outward  wall, 
To  wave  in  triumph,  till  her  foemen  fly. 
-    •>   •      -•'    •  " 

.:  *~  «?S         ••-•  '  :-.  :...•*  ,  i-VS       f    ;  J/* 


HENRY    CLAY. 


I. 


Cool  in  design,  as  ardent  in  debate, 

To  thee  hath  nature  given,  in  ample  dower, 

Prompt  fearful  thoughts,  and  words  of  blandest  power, 

Skilful  alike  to  soothe,  or  agitate. 

And  then  what  music  thy  rich  voice  to  hear  ! 

So  varied,  from  those  trumpet  notes,  far  thrown, 

Sonorous,  thrilling,  to  that  gentlest  tone 
Of  lute-like  melody,  that,  melting  near, 
Lulls  the  wrapt  sense,  serenely  soft  as  clear. 

Nor  less  the  observer,  in  thy  form  and  face, 

Each  change  of  feeling  and  of  thought  can  trace  ; 
The  full  accord  of  body  and  of  mind, 

To  eye  alike  addressed  and  listening  ear, 

Look,  language,  gesture  in  one  charm  combined. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  139 

II. 

Tt|^jk 

Nor  skilled  alone,  in  vehement  debate, 

To  sweep  the  field  of  conflict,  or  assail 

With  wit's  light  weapons,  where  such  arms  avail, 
Thine,  or  thy  country's  foes,  but  on  thee  wait 
Reason's  controlling  powers,  judgment  sedate, 

And  far  pervading  thought.     With  spirit  free, 
And  prompt  to  hasty  anger,  yet  endued 

With  needful  skill,  and  arts  of  policy, 
That  force  repel,  and  snares  of  fraud  elude, 

Tis  thine  a  nation's  strifes  to  compromise  ; 
Adroit  in  steering  still  mid  adverse  aims, 

Successful  thence  esteemed,  and  hailed  as  wise  : 

Yet  true  accord  from  right  alone  can  rise, 
Never  from  yielding  to  ill  founded  claims. 


DANIEL    WEBSTER. 
I. 

Like  some  august,  and  deathless  work  of  old, 

In  bronze  renowned,  or  Parian  marble  wrought, 
Hero,  or  demi  god,  where  chiselled  bold, 
Robust,  Herculean,  we  with  awe  behold 

Each  feature  pregnant  with  o'ermastering  thought, 
Such  majesty  of  might  dwells,  Webster!  now, 
In  thy  proud  front,  in  that  commanding  brow, 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Those  Atlantean  shoulders,  and  that  eye, 
With  fire  far  flashing,  like  the  scorching  ray 

Of  Mars  armipotent,  —  while  battling  high 
With  dangerous  error,  holding  still  thy  way, 
In  stern  arbitriment  of  deadly  fray, 

Triumphant  as,  of  late,  thou  stood'st  o'er  Hayne, 

Like  Phoebus,  radiant  from  the  Python  slain. 


II. 


Thus  proudly  eminent,  above  the  rest, 
In  shape  and  gesture,  thy  capacious  mind 
Seems  emblemed  in  thy  body,  strength  combined 
With  majesty  of  state  ;  so  clear  imprest 
Hath  nature  blazoned  on  that  ample  crest, 

Her  charter  of  high  power.     Thy  deeds  have  won 
Enduring  fame;  and  time  for  thee  hath  twined 

The  wreaths  that  fade  not.     Life's  prime  duty  done, 
Thy  country  served,  what  matters  it,  the  while, 
If  storms  thy  course  assail,  and  fortune's  smile 

Shine  not  auspicious  on  thy  lofty  prow  ; 
Yet  doubt  not  thence  success  :  if  highest  power 
On  worth  await,  thou  yet,  in  happy  hour, 

May'st  add,  well  won,  that  garland  to  thy  brow. 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST.  141 


THE    POTOMAC. 


Tis  sweet  to  roam,  this  sabbath  day, 
When  public  cares  no  more  molest, 

From  legislative  halls  away, 

To  quiet  scenes  of  nature's  rest: 

From  glare  of  city  pomp  to  stray 
By  broad  Potomac's  azure  breast ; 

Indulging  free,  while  fancy's  dream 

Flows  broad  and  bright,  as  here  the  stream. 

Here,  by  thy  pure  and  tranquil  flow, 
I  'scape,  fair  stream  !  awhile  the  strife, 

The  mingled  sounds  of  joy  and  wo, 
% , 

The  conflict  dire  of  public  life, 
Wherewith  ambition's  realms  are  rife  ; 
As  lone  along  thy  banks  I  go, 

More  pleased,  than  in  yon  hall  to  hear 
The  daily  din  that  pains  mine  ear. 

What  care  I  now  for  fierce  debate, 
For  clouds  of  anger,  that  unfold 

Their  lowering  skirts  of  scorn  and  hate 
Round  yonder  hill ;  since  I  behold 

How  soon  yon  sun  can  dissipate 

Far  denser  clouds  than  e'er  were  rolled 

By  men,  skilled  only  to  dispense 

Mock  thunders  of  froth  eloquence. 
12 


I 


« 


SCENES    FROM    THE    PAST. 

Thy  gentle  voice  resounding  here, 

As  slow  I  pace  thy  pebbly  shore, 
Recalls  past  scenes,  to  memory  dear  ; 

Till  fancy,  as  in  days  of  yore, 
Seems  listening  to  my  native  stream, 

Mid  rocks  remote,  where  many  a  year, 

Its  echoes  charmed  my  childhood's  ear, 
And  fill,  e'en  yet,  my  waking  dream. 

Ah  !   wherefore  leave  that  humble  rill, 
For  broader  streams  of  loftier  name  ? 

Why  seek,  on  yonder  noisy  hill, 
The  flitting  shade  of  empty  fame  ; 
The  glittering  prize,  which  thousands  claim, 

Whose  vain  pursuit,  is  answered  still 
By  cold  neglect,  or  proud  disdain, 
Where  many  seek,  what  few  can  gain. 

Yon  water  fowl,  that  soaring  high, 

Leaves  now  thy  wave,  to  wing  his  flight, 

From  western  stream,  or  southern  sky, 
To  arctic  waters,  soon  may  light 
Beside  my  home  .  oh  !  were  the  might 

Of  that  wing  mine,  how  would  I  fly, 
From  angry  strife  of  wordy  men, 
To  nestle  in  my  native  glen  ! 

Fair  stream  !  I  do  thy  genius  wrong, 

To  talk  of  strife  along  thy  path ; 
Where  deep,  transparent,  smooth,  yet  strong, 

Unknown  alike  to  pride  and  wrath, 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  143 

Thy  waters  roll  in  light  along, 

Untroubled,  calm  ;  while  in  mine  ear 
Thy  gentle  ripple  murmurs  here, 

Like  echoes  of  some  sabbath  song. 

And  such  it  is,  to  lonely  heart, 

Long  pained  with  thoughts  of  absence  drear  ; 
Constrained  from  joys  of  home  to  part, 

From  wife,  from  child,  from  kindred  dear  ; 

To  meet,  instead,  but  rivals  here, 
And  witness  oft  the  bitter  smart 

Of  hope  deferred,  and  efforts  vain, 

That  writhe  ambition's  fevered  brain. 

Then,  oh  !  my  love  !  in  hours  like  this, 
How  yearns  the  lonely  heart  for  rest ; 

The  heart,  that  knows  no  earthly  bliss, 

Like  home,  —  the  home  thy  love  hath  blest: 
And  one  is  there,  by  thee  carest, 

Who  n'er  has  felt  a  father's  kiss  ; 

My  boy,  —  seen  but  in  dreams  by  me, 
Whom  fain  these  arms  would  clasp  with  thee. 


144  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

FAREWELL    TO    WASHINGTON. 

I- 

I  stood,  —  'twas  the  last  time,  —  beneath  the  dome 

Superb,  of  that  proud  Capitol,  where  I, 

Mid  shifting  scenes,  and  projects  strange  as  high, 
So  long  had  sojourned,  that  I  seemed  at  home  : 
For  the  last  time,  and  soon  afar  to  roam. 

Regret  saddened  my  brow  ;  for  who  can  leave 

Friends  long  beloved,  familiar  scenes,  nor  grieve 
At  parting  thence  1     Yet  brief  that  pang,  as  vain  : 

No  blight  of  frustrate  hopes,  no  schemes  destroyed 
Of  high  ambition,  came  to  swell  that  pain. 

Six  busy  winters  well  had  been  enjoyed, 
In  cheerful  service  ;  serious  with  the  grave, 
And  sportive  with  the  gay  ;  nor  tool,  nor  slave, 

To  power,  or  party  ;  happy,  so  employed. 

* 


II. 


If  unambitious,  fond  of  privacy, 

Amidst  contending  factions,  I  have  been 
Spectator  more  than  actor  in  the  scene, 

I  have  not  less,  perchance,  with  curious  eye, 

The  springs  of  action  marked,  —  the  powers  that  rule 
Man's  wayward  course,  —  a  student  in  the  school 

Of  public  life,  its  nature  to  descry ; 


SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST.  145 

A  near  observer  oft  of  words  and  deeds, 
Once  deemed  important,  and  of  some,  not  yet 
Forgotten  quite  ;  though  soon  the  crowd  forget, 

As  time  rolls  on,  and  scene  to  scene  succeeds. 
Enough,  that  I  have  seen  the  engine  play, 
And  watched  its  movements,  many  a  busy  day ; 

Nor  felt,  at  parting,  e'en  an  hour's  regret. 


III. 


No  fool  to  favour,  bound  to  bend  the  knee, 

In  ready  homage,  to  the  changing  whim 

Of  great  or  small,  to  many,  or  to  him, 
The  monarch  of  an  hour,  whose  word  must  be 
Long  as  his  power  endures,  the  crowd's  decree, 

Early  I  sought  a  surer  judge  to  find 

Of  public  duty  ;  the  reflecting  mind 
And  inward  sense  of  right.     If  honor  came, 

For  good  intentions,  or  good  service  done, 
The  world's  best  recompense,  an  honest  name, 

'Twas  grateful,  given  by  many,  or  by  one  : 
But  far  more  grateful,  harder  to  attain, 
The  heart's  calm  verdict  for  itself  to  gain, 

Than  wealth  more  rich,  more  glorious  e'en  than  fame. 


IV. 


I  sought  not  lofty  aims,  nor  strove  to  reach 

Ambition's  gauds,  high  office,  wealth,  or  fame  : 
Sufficed  jit,  if,  within,  I  urged  the  claim 

Of  self  dominion ;  if  my  heart  could  teach 


146  SCENES  FROM  THE  PAST. 

\  T» 

Its  own  desires  submission.     As  a  child, 
Barred  from  the  mother's  milk,  is  reconciled, 
Though  loath,  to  quit  at  length  the  breast,  my  soul, 
Composed  and  quieted,  is  weaned,  at  last, 
Ambition  !  from  thy  side.     The  hope  is  past, 
The  hope  and  the  desire,  to  win  the  goal, 
Where,  wrapt  in  dust,  thy  fiery  chariots  roll, 
With  shout  and  execration,  mid  the  blast 
Of  whirlwind  passions.     Rather  would  I  rest, 
Affection  !  pillowed  on  thy  gentle  breast. 


CONCLUSION. 

And  have  I  reached,  how  soon  !  the  dreaded  line, 
Where  manhood  verges  on  the  bounds  of  age  7 

That  full  meridian  passed,  whence  life's  decline 
Must  downward  travel,  on  each  onward  stage? 

Well,  be  it  so  :  'tis  folly  to  repine  ; 

And  gladly  I  to  younger  years  resign 

The  cares,  the  joys,  which  should  those  years  engage. 

And  thou,  whose  partial  eye  has  followed  still 
My  devious  course,  kind  reader !  fare  thee  well. 

If  shade  or  sunshine,  mingled  good  or  ill, 
Await  me  yet,  the  muse,  ere  long,  may  tell, 

So  thou  approve,  nor  age  her  ardour  chill. 
Enough,  if  met  again,  our  path  must  lay 
Adown  the  vale,  till  twilight  close  on  day. 


JV  O  T  E  S. 


PRACTICE,  p.  19. 

WILLIAM  PLUMER,  JEREMIAH  SMITH,  JEREMIAH  MASON  and 
DANIEL  WEBSTER,  (naming  them  in  the  order  of  their  ages)  were  mem 
bers  of  the  Rockingham  Bar,  while  I  was  a  student,  and  after  my  admis 
sion  there.  It  would  not  have  been  easy  to  find,  at  any  other  County 
Court,  four  such  men  as  there  met  in  frequent  and  earnest  encounter  with 
each  other.  Learning,  wit,  eloquence,  powers  of  reasoning,  and  proofs 
of  industrious  research,  were  displayed,  not  seldom,  on  that  narrow  scene, 
which  would  have  been  more  admired,  on  a  broader  stage.  Of  one  of 
these  distinguished  men,  it  would  not  become  me  here  to  speak ;  the  oth 
ers  do  not  need  it  at  my  hands. 

THE  Loss  OF  EARLY  FRIENDS,  p.  23. 

Soon  after  leaving  College,  and  while  the  ties  of  affection,  which  class 
mates  so  generally  feel  for  each  other,  were  still  unimpaired,  I  lost  several 
of  those  early  friends,  with  whom  I  had  been  most  intimately  connected  at 
Cambridge.  I  have  here  endeavoured  to  commemorate  their  virtues  — 
not  with  the  expectation  of  making  them  personally  interesting  to  the 
reader ;  but  in  the  belief  that  correct  delineation,  just  sentiment,  and  nat 
ural  emotion  (  if  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  exhibit  any  of  these)  will  lose 
none  of  their  effect,  from  being  considered  as  the  genuine  expression  of 
true  feeling,  growing  out  of  facts  ;  instead  of  the  mere  effusions  of  fancy, 
which  might  otherwise  have  taken  their  places. 

THE  ANCESTRAL  SEAT,  p.  53. 

FRANCIS  PLUMER,  who  took  the  Freemen's  Oath  at  Boston,  in  1G32, 
was  one  of  the  original  grantees  of  the  town  of  Newbury  in  Massachu 
setts.  Several  of  his  descendants  still  live  on  the  spot  which  lie  selected, 


148  NOTES. 

'  -» 

and  one  of  them  in  the  house  which  he  built.  Descendants  from  the  same 
common  ancestor  are  to  be  found  in  many  parts  of  the  Union.  Five  of 
them  have  been  Members  of  Congress,  from  three  different  States. 

SLAVERY,  p.  122. 

The  Almighty  has  no  attribute,  which  can  take  sides  with  us  in  such  a 
contest.  Jefferson's  Notes  on  Virginia. 

THE  GREAT  HI,  p.  129. 

Vides,  mi  fili,  quam  parvula  sapientia  regitur  mundus. 

Oxenstiern. 

THE  GREAT,  iv,  p.  129. 

NATHANIEL  MACON,  who  was  thirty  seven  years  a  member  of  Con 
gress  from  North  Carolina,  used  to  say  that  the  great  men  of  the  country 
were  no  where  thought  so  little  of,  as  at  Washington ;  and  no  where 
more  highly  estimated,  than  in  the  pine  barrens  of  North  Carolina.  They 
looked  best,  he  said,  at  the  convenient  distance  of  five  hundred  miles  ! 
This  is  the  old  saying,  in  a  new  form,  tnat  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet. 


ERRATA. 

P.  34,  L.  3,    for  thy  read  his. 

97,      15,    Ausorian,  read  Ausonian. 
117,        1,    brain  read  beam. 


274 


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